


Flight Lessons

by flightlessons



Series: Flight Lessons [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Incest, M/M, Novel, Polyamory, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 153,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessons/pseuds/flightlessons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few small changes to the plotline of Supernatural can drastically alter what takes place after. In this case, the main alteration is simple: in “All Hell Breaks Loose: Part I,” Dean gets there a few seconds earlier, and Sam doesn’t die. They flee, and a mildly disappointed Azazel still attempts to open the gate with Jake as his champion. They beat him quite similarly to what happened in Part II. Drastic differences take hold in what would be Season 3, since Dean didn’t sell his soul, there is no need to try and prevent him from going to hell. Flight Lessons picks up there.</p><p>But, worry not. All is not peaceful and safe in the world, and having a little extra time on the boys’ hands only complicates things further.</p><p>Many of the usual suspects make appearances, including everyone’s favorite trenchcoated angel, though how and why can never quite be the same. Their fancy new introductions and roles fall in line with a different sort of destiny that ends up shaping the Winchesters and testing their limits.</p><p>Find the complete story on Tumblr, as well: <a href="http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters">http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misty Mountain Hop

**Author's Note:**

> For complete notes, please visit the Tumblr notes page here: <http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/notes>

He knocked back the final third of house whiskey and slid his glass across the bar’s damp, scratched-up wood. He thought long and hard about ordering another, but the motel was across town, and he most certainly didn’t need to get pulled over–or worse, hit somebody. Especially not in his condition. There’d be too many questions.

The scrapes on the palms of his hands were incurred mere minutes into the job. As they’d approached the den, it smelled them coming and leapt out, flinging Dean yards from the entrance and leaving his brother to try and fend the thing off on his own.

It wasn’t what they expected, either. Black dogs were, unsurprisingly, not much bigger than actual dogs. This creature weighed in at three times that, and it seemed to have more in common with a bear. But the nearly hairless and wrinkled face looked very close to one of those strange tree animals with giant yellow eyes—Dean couldn’t remember the name.

The thing had only three digits on its two front paws, and on each of those grew long, thick nails in a dull gray color. They weren’t sharp, and it didn’t treat them like weapons. Maybe in between killing hikers, it foraged for roots or dug up small forest animals. Instead of scratching or cutting, it used brute force on Sam, swinging its arms wildly like big, heavy ropes. The younger hunter scrambled out of the way as Dean dragged himself to his feet.

They fled.

Sighing, he dug his fingernails under a coaster. It took a little work to get it unstuck from the bar, an unfortunate side-effect of years of spilled, sugary concoctions served up in the small town’s only liquor-peddling dive. When he got it free, he balanced it carefully on top of his empty glass and motioned for the middle-aged bartender. He twisted his head until he heard a cracking noise in the joints.

The two raced through the underbrush and spindly trees that covered the steep incline. It had little trouble gaining on them, even with so many impediments. And they weren’t exactly expert woodsmen. Sam did okay as far as he could tell, but Dean felt like he tripped as much as he stayed on his feet.

“God damnit!” he shouted as a swipe from the oversized, demented squirrel missed him by inches. He slid on a clump of wet leaves and didn’t stop until he hit a birch tree with a thud. As the thing descended, he used the plant as a shield. “You are one angry son of a bitch, aren’t you?” It swiped again. “Fuck! Hey, Sammy, little help?!”

Sam kept his distance as he loaded the sawed-off shotgun with solid shells. Somehow, he didn’t think the buckshot would be enough.

“Anything else I can get for ya?” the bleach-blonde bartender folded her arms across her stomach and leaned forward. Her loose-fitting top left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and she practically spilled out of it.

The voice grated on him and broke his concentration. After any job, he ran through the events in his head to figure out what could’ve gone better and how. On this occasion, pretty much everything was a disaster, though they still managed to survive, somehow.

His stomach turned. “Huh? Uh, no, I gotta get goin’. Close my tab?” He handed over a credit card of questionable legality. “Thanks.”

She looked him up and down, and her hand lingered on the card just a little too long for comfort. “Can’t imagine how you ended up here in the first place,” she muttered, turning to a cash register.

The first shot missed, but the echo rang out all around them, bouncing off other hills and ridges. Sam wasn’t a bad shot, but they carried limited ammo, and he wanted to hit it in the head. The noise startled the creature, and it did a one-eighty, headed straight for Sam. The younger Winchester stood his ground as it charged. With every muscle in his body locked up, he aimed with precision, breathed out a little, and fired.

The bullet took off a giant chunk of the side of the animal’s head. It let out a screech and skidded off to one side, but momentum brought it on top of Sam, anyway. It shook its head repetitively, as though doing so might fix the massive wound. Frightened and hurt, the thing acted like any other wounded animal in its position might. It fought for its life. Its massive body crushed the air out of Sam’s lungs, and its scratching and flailing threatened to do him in.

Armed with only a Colt 1911, his trusty but underpowered .45 caliber handgun, he scaled the ridge as fast as possible. Sam took a few swings of his own at the creature, trying to aim for the wound, but the efforts were nearly futile. It could easily still kill him. Disoriented and bleeding, one of its dull claws cut into Sam’s side on its way to the ground. He hissed in pain but didn’t cry out. His brother was proud.

Dean got as close as he could without being in range of attack. He drew his weapon and pointed it at what remained of the monster’s head. Sam covered his ears. Without hesitation, he didn’t stop shooting until the clip was empty.

He didn’t notice when the bartender returned the piece of plastic by sliding it across the bar along with a receipt for him to sign. His eyes were unfocused as he replayed the afternoon’s events. If she said anything more before leaving him to his own devices, he didn’t hear it.

There was a stump where the head had been. Dead and unrecognizable.

“Help!” Sam gasped from under the carcass. “Can’t breathe.”

Dean put the gun away, pressed his shoulder into the body, and shoved with all of his weight. It moved but didn’t free him. His brother groaned, coughing. Another shove yielded the same effect. “Fuck!” On the third time around, he kept pushing—put all the energy and force he had into moving the damn thing. His muscles burned, and he felt something stretch out of whack in his shoulder.

Success. The corpse rolled just enough for Sam to wriggle free before it fell back into place. Dean went with it. He landed between the two, facing the living one. His arm hit Sam’s chest, which was covered in the animal’s dark blood, along with a little of his own.

“You wanna burn it?” Sam asked, applying pressure to the cut just under his ribcage.

Dean moaned, “Do I have to move?” He didn’t care that he was wedged between a dead body and Sam, who lay bloodied and covered with sweat next to him. The sprint and the heavy lifting had every part of him aching already, and they still had at least an hour’s hike back to the car.

“If you don’t, I’m pretty sure you’ll catch on fire.” Sam lifted his head off the dirt enough to size up the monster. “We could just leave it.”

“For one of those monster seeker shows to find? C’mon, dude…”

He nudged it with the end of his shotgun. “It looks kinda like a bear with the head gone,” he explained. “You know, like a really deformed and messed up one. Animals will probably get at it, too.”

Dean glared in his general direction. “Man, you’re lazy! The whole damn town probably heard the shots.”

Sam stared back at him defiantly. “Even more reason not to draw attention to it with a big bonfire, Dean!” He kicked him in the shin. “And you’re the one still laying here. You gonna take a nap or get up anytime soon?”

“I’m working on it,” he grunted. When he finally sat up and brushed himself off, he couldn’t help but notice Sam was watching his every move like there would be a test on it. “Dude, what? I got creature brains on me? He didn’t get me any place major as far as I can tell.”

Sam broke his concentration. “Let’s go.”

He stood as stiffly in the bar as he did on the mountain. Scribbling an incomprehensible signature to go with the fake name on the card, he pocketed the plastic and headed for the door.

“You’re having a chick moment again, aren’t you? I saved your ass like I always do, and you’re just so filled up with feelings you don’t know how to handle yourself. It’s okay. I get it. I’ll buy you some ice cream, and you can watch _Oprah_ when we get back.”

Truth is, he had no idea what was going on with him, but with Sam, he either came right out with it or waited until Dean discovered what was wrong on his own. All he knew for sure was that something definitely did seem to be off about his brother. He just didn’t know what.

To further prove the point, the obvious answer to his teasing was that Sam had actually come to Dean’s rescue first with some pretty fantastic shooting. But he didn’t return with that, or with anything. He only shrugged and started walking downhill. Dean paused next to the creature. Maybe if the locals did find it, they’d be a little more careful about going off into the woods alone. That thought and his own exhaustion proved enough for him to leave it alone.

A check by phone with Bobby, an old hunter and friend they’d known since they were kids, shed no light on the matter. No lore or cases on such a monster existed in any of the books in the man’s vast home library, and a web search yielded the same results. His best guess? A new or undiscovered species of a regular animal. Bears attacked people when provoked or hungry, maybe this thing did the same. It didn’t seem particularly intelligent or malevolent, just big and dangerous. Like a really ugly grizzly. With the locals encroaching on its habitat and hunting grounds, negative encounters were inevitable.

So, congratulations. They found a new species worthy of categorization and study—the kind of discovery scientists had wet dreams about—and they blew its head off.

Nothing about that job felt good. They’d gone in ridiculously underprepared and gotten their asses kicked, and something was seriously amiss with his little brother. Add in killing what essentially amounted to a more or less innocent creature?

Dean wasn’t happy.

Near the exit, he stopped to have a look at the various flyers posted by the locals. New Oxford was just a pit-stop on their speedy retreat out of rural Pennsylvania, but if there was a job here, too, he sure could use something to take his mind off the last one.

His eyes raced across the ads for any sign of missing persons or strange occurrences, but he found nothing even close. Biggest thing lost was a German Sheppard named Hugo, and by all accounts, it seemed the dull town’s strangest event of the last decade was the Winchesters’ hopefully brief arrival.

“Of course,” he growled at the wall of papers. Turning to leave, his eyes fell on a red and orange advertisement peeking out from under a flyer for an apple-themed festival. He bent down for a closer look.

“ _Guys:_ ” it read, “ _Feeling lonely? Or just looking for a little fun tonight? Give ‘Feels Like Heaven’ a call, where a little sin goes a long way. 1-800-LIKE-HVN. Credit card required._ ”  He let out a laugh and ripped it down from the board. A sex chatline could be fun, if he ever got a few hours to himself. Shoving the paper into his front pocket, he left the bar and headed back.

To his surprise, the room was empty. A note rested on his pillow. Scrawled in familiar handwriting was an explanation from his brother: “ _Hey Dean, WiFi in this place sucks, and I can’t get any work done. Can’t sleep for shit, either. Went to a diner down the street. Open 24-hours. Don’t wait up. –Sam._ ”

He considered going to check on him—if his side was keeping him up, he had some leftover pain meds Sam could take—but it didn’t sound like he wanted company. And, anyway, Dean could use a little time to himself. He fell back on the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV on.

But that little piece of paper burned a hole in his pocket, and he simply couldn’t help himself. He quickly picked up his phone, dialed the numbers, and waited. “Feels Like Heaven. Matt speaking,” came over the line. “Can I help match you with one of our exciting adult phone entertainers?”

Dean cleared his throat in discomfort. “Uh, yeah, sure. What’s—available?”

“We currently have five actors available tonight, with three who specify they do both taboo subjects and BDSM. Would you like their ethnicities, physical specifications, or any other information to help you make your choice, sir?”

The hunter felt his face get hot. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “Dude, no. Nothing weird. Just the basics, okay?”

“All right. For the non-taboo actors, we have Alex and—oh!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, sir. One of our top entertainers, who doesn’t usually take a lot of new callers—Cas—is listed as available in our system.”

He blinked. “How do you become a ‘top entertainer’?”

The guy on the other end of the line laughed. “A good combination of acting skill and, well, pay off for your clients, I imagine.”

“Uh, okay then,” Dean sighed, “Which would you recommend? I dunno if you can tell, but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“They’re both very capable partners, and I’m sure you would enjoy either one. I’ve met Alex in person—very nice on the eyes, and quite popular. But, Cas is practically a legend around here. And, of course, if you’re not fully satisfied, we’re more than happy to find a different actor for you.”

“A legend, huh? Well, then I guess I have to go with Cass.” Short for Cassandra? Not a bad a name, though she shared it with one of his exes—probably the most serious one he had. But so long as she stuck to “Cass” and not “Cassie,” he figured he could ignore it.

“Great! If you could just give me your credit card information, I can patch you through right away.” When he did, “Have a wonderful time, sir, and thank you for choosing Feels like Heaven.”

The phone rang three times before a voice answered. “Hello, Caller, this is Cas. I’ll be your partner for this evening. What are you into?”

Dean nearly dropped the phone. “Wait, hold on.”

“Something wrong?”

“I think there’s been a mistake. A really big one.”

He heard typing. “No, I don’t think so. Our system says you requested me specifically.”

“Yeah, but you’re a—you’re a dude. And I didn’t—how is—your name…” He couldn’t form a complete sentence to save his life.

Cas let out a heavy sigh. “This company doesn’t employ any women working as entertainers. It’s all guys, all the time.”

He cursed, half covering the mic on his phone.

After a moment of thinking, Cas peered into his computer screen and straightened his back. “Look, uh—Dean, is it? This stuff’s anonymous. Whoever you are on a day-to-day basis, it doesn’t mean anything here. Why don’t you give it a try, anyway? You might like it.”

“No! Fuck no. No thanks, man.”

Cas sat back in his plush desk chair and ran his fingers over the edge of his headset. “Tell you what,” he said in the calmest, most confident voice he could call up. “I have a running bet with myself. I wholeheartedly believe that I can get literally anyone off, entirely through talking. It’s my job, after all. Gay, straight, bisexual, whatever. And, I’m willing to bet my fee on it. If I can’t do it, you’ll get back every cent, and we’ll delete your info from our network. Like it never happened.”

“Sonuva bitch, you’re not listenin’ to me.”

“Oh, I heard you, Dean, and if you really want out, just press one on that phone of yours, and you’ll go back to the operator, who will happily refund you. But by the mere fact that you haven’t simply hung up or already demanded your money back, I think you don’t really want to, do you? Besides, what have you got to lose? C’mon, live a little. I promise I’m really, really fun.”

Dean bit into his lower lip, but said and did nothing. God damnit.

“Right, so I’m gonna start talking. Feel free to chime in any time, or don’t. Whatever works for you.” He stretched, opening his notebook to a new page and writing “ _DEAN_ ” at the top. As an afterthought, he added “ _go easy, convincing… basic”_ underneath.  “You know, it’s funny,” he said, staring at the page. “You sound like not a whole lot scares you.”

After a pause, “Oh, yeah? What does that mean?”

“It’s your voice,” Cas explained. “You’re working really hard to sound normal, but you’re not. You know you’re not. And I don’t mean sexually. Like, you’ve been up against some real shit in your life, and you don’t believe everyone else could even begin to understand.”

“Next you’ll tell me you moonlight as a therapist.”

“Just making an observation. It’s what I do. I talk to people for a living. My job is to figure out what complete strangers would want, usually in ways that people who actually know them can’t or won’t provide, or don’t even have any idea that you want. I don’t get to see you, be in a room with you, or touch you, but I can still provide whatever it is you need. And I’m very, very good at my job.”

Cas wrote down the word “ _damaged_ ” but then crossed it out and replaced it with _“loss_.”

“So, I’m guessing it’s not fear so much as you don’t trust people,” he continued, shrugging. “But that’s the great part about this, really. You don’t need to trust me.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hang up, he commanded himself. Just hang up.

“It would help if you could tell me a little more about yourself, though. I mean, just a little. I’m guessing you’re early thirties, right? You sound older, but I think that’s that life experience stuff coming through. Definitely white. Physically active, but not the gym-going type. Maybe a smoker, definitely a drinker.  How am I doing?”

“That’s about right,” he barely got out. Though, he hadn’t had a cigarette since he was a teenager—too afraid Sam would pick up the habit. He didn’t want that on his conscience.

“And I think you actually have sex fairly often.” He wrote the words as he said them.

Whoa. “What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch. Mostly one-night stands, all or mostly women—”

“All,” he insisted, sharply enough to come off as anger.

Cas smiled, unfazed by his tone. “All women, then. A steady stream with no strings attached, so whatever you do for a living probably means you travel a lot. That’s why you called. You figured you could get essentially the same thing, with even less effort than you normally put in. It doesn’t get more anonymous than this.”

He leaned against the headboard. “Uh huh.”

“But the way I figure, you’d be better suited in a relationship if your life allowed for it. Not emotionally, but sexually.”

“What?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that reaction a lot. You see, one-timers and strangers, they don’t put in the effort to learn the little things that really, really get you off. They just get right to it, because it’s not really about you. It’s about them. And I bet, with you, it’s the little things.” He let that sink in for a moment. Then, “So, what is it? A little pressing on your wrists, maybe? Ear nibble? Slowing it down? What would a person who took the time to get to know you go for right off the bat on the tenth time around? The hundredth?”

Dean pressed the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Cheek,” he forced out.

“Cheek?” Cas repeated, taking note. “Hmm. Jawline or—oh, I know, right next to your nose. Up close and personal—sends shivers down your spine. Don’t even really have to be an astounding kisser for it to work.”

When he made no attempt to correct him, Cas smiled wide. “Added bonus if the person’s nose touches yours a little.”

Dean inhaled sharply. Inside his chest, his heart pummeled his ribcage.

“It really is a shame that people don’t take the time to figure these things out. It’s not even that hard. You just—use your hands and lips a little, and listen. For most people, there’ll be noises—a moan here, a sigh there. But then, you ‘re not the type for that, are you?” He took a sip from a glass of water.

“No, men aren’t supposed to make all those sounds, right?” he continued. “Oh, but you want to! You’d kill to, especially when someone gets that magic spot on your cheek. Your head is filled with the noises you would make if you didn’t think you would be judged for it. No, to make a noise from something so small with a real live person—that would require at least a little trust.”

“So, instead, you suppress it. But you can’t change your breathing. You’re not that good, though I suppose you’ve probably lucked out with your current course—most of the people you’ve been seeing recreationally either wouldn’t notice or don’t care.”

Dean moved the phone to his other ear. “What the hell does that matter?” he asked eventually.

“You mean other than that you’re not having as much fun as you could be?” Cas tried not to be too condescending, though he feared he was. Adjusting his tone, “I’m just setting a goal, really.”

“What’s that?”

“To get you to make those noises for me!” He laughed again.

It somehow helped ease the tension Dean felt. He was just so comfortable with what they were doing, while Dean felt like he was going to climb up the damn wall. In the silence, a voice inside his head screamed for him to cut the conversation off. It was too real, too strange. What the hell was he doing?

But his fears melted away the moment the man’s voice met his ear again. “So, if I’m going to do that, this is the part where I ask for a little help on your end.”

“What?” he breathed heavier than he meant to.

“Do me a favor, Dean, and take your thumb—and put it just lightly on that spot of yours.  The one on your cheek.”

“C’mon, man,” he protested. “Dude, no way. Not happening.”

Cas licked his lips. “I know how it sounds. I’d ask you to trust me, but, well, you know. Just do it.”

Dean looked around the room self-consciously, but of course found it empty. With no one around but himself to ridicule him—and he planned to fill a hefty schedule expressly for that purpose—he brought his hand up and pressed his thumb into his cheek.

“Have you done it?” Cas asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, feeling utterly mortified.

Cas grinned. “See, I’d start right there. Just a little pressure at first. And I wouldn’t touch you anywhere else—not yet. I would just kiss you right there, for as long as it took to get you asking for more. And I would be so incredibly patient.”

Dean’s whole body felt hot.


	2. Subdivisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the whole story at: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

“I wonder how you taste,” Cas didn’t hold back. “And you, what would be going through your head, huh? How on earth you let me get that close? Those walls and protections of yours—they all fell so quickly. Or maybe something a little more specific. Do I know what brushing up against the inside of your thigh is doing to you? Weak in the knees, heart racing. And how fast would it take me to get those jeans undone? Probably wouldn’t be very long. And, most importantly, would I go easy on you? Maybe if you asked really nicely.”

Cas paused and listened to him inhale and exhale. By the sound of it—a faster pace than even a few moments before—Dean was having a good time.

“Hard yet?” he asked with a chuckle.

Dean gulped. He didn’t have to look to know, but he did, anyway. “Fuck.”

“So, to answer one of those questions, I could get them open very fast if I wanted to—let them drop to the floor or maybe get you down on a bed and pull them off. But with everything else, I think I’d take my time. Everyone rushes things these days. I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” he heard himself ask.

“Wouldn’t want to get you off too quickly! Where would the fun in that be?” He made another deliberate pause.

“So, uh, what happens next?” Dean pressed, despite himself.

Cas covered his mouth with his hand for a moment to prevent any noises from going through. He’d taken the man from vehemently straight to asking for more in no time at all. He was proud of himself, and quite amused. Gaining composure, “I bet you have another one of those spots, somewhere a bit lower, don’t you?”

He nodded. Realizing that Cas couldn’t see him, he forced out the word “Yeah.”

“Well, why don’t you unzip your pants so I can find it? Go on. And pull them down a little.”

Dean flattened himself on the bed and balanced his cellphone on the pillow next to his ear. He closed his eyes again and complied, pushing his worn jeans down with both hands. His boxers went, too, if only a few inches.

Cas didn’t ask this time. He didn’t need to. “Now, I have a pretty good idea where it is, but I’d search around, anyway. Run my hands over you—under your shirt, up to your chest, then back down to your inner leg.  But maybe that doesn’t quite do the trick. I’ll have to use a bit more persuasion to get an answer out of you—a few kisses here and there. ”

He gave up fighting entirely and actively tried to imagine it. But he found the task difficult. He had no idea what Cas looked like, nor did he know anything about him. How could he picture the things Cas said without any information? A quieter voice in the back of his brain asked why the hell he would want to stay on the line, let alone ask for a description, but he didn’t care. “What do you look like?” he breathed into the phone. “Tell me. Please.”

Cas grinned. “I could be anything you want, but I take it you mean actually? Okay. Blue eyes, brown hair. Six feet tall—even. I don’t really work out, but I’m healthy. Not overweight or underweight. Five o’clock shadow by now, I imagine.” When Dean didn’t ask for more description, he switched gears back to the matter at hand. “I think I would find the other spot just off-center, right? On that line that reaches all the way down, right above your leg.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed right away.

“And with just a little pressure—let’s say with my tongue—I bet I’d have you squirming.”

Dean could barely keep his ear pressed to the phone. He slid his hand down to that spot and pushed two fingers into it. He tried to imagine what Cas described, as close as possible to what he actually looked like—down to the stubble brushing against his pelvis. He could’ve imagined anyone, even a woman, really, but he didn’t want to. It wouldn’t have been as authentic. It wouldn’t have done the trick this time.

“Oh God,” he almost whispered.

Cas leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the desk. He picked up a glass paperweight in the shape of a globe and gripped it in both hands. He lost himself in the middle of it, somewhere between the frosted likenesses of Africa and Europe. It was the home stretch. “And just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, I’d pull those boxers”—he took a risk guessing that—“of yours down, get a good hold, and give you a taste.”

Dean moved his hand accordingly. The muscles in his legs tensed. His face felt unbearably hot. He couldn’t believe how close he was, and how soon. “Oh god,” he repeated. “Cas, I—”

“Something about oral sex—it’s so much more personal, isn’t it?” he said slowly. “Hard to get closer to a person, hard to experience a person more thoroughly. And it’s just so enjoyable for everyone involved. My tongue running the full length of you: pure ecstasy on your part. But what people don’t talk about so often is how much fun it is to do. How much power you have, how much skill you can call up—all to make a person just like you feel the best he’s ever felt. And you get to watch him be overtaken by passion and pleasure. And then—and then there’s the payoff. And as much as it’s so very satisfying for you, Dean, you can’t imagine how wonderful it feels to be the cause. To know that you’re on the verge at this moment,” he exhaled into his headset for effect, “there’s something just really sexy about that, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” he panted. “Whatever you say, man.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t be able to say much, naturally. With my mouth full.” He bit down on his thumb for effect. The client couldn’t see it, of course, but it helped if he was pretending to play the part a bit. “I could stay here all night, you know, taking you close. I’d lose my bet if you didn’t come for me, of course, but it’d be worth it. To turn you on that much. To touch you and taste you. For hours. Never quite letting you get there, but never letting you go.”

Dean couldn’t hold off any longer. He gave in. The prospect of going all night, as unrealistic a proposition as it was, sealed the deal. His back arched off the bed a little, and he bit into his lip. It couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped him. Breathing heavy and even feeling a little dizzy, he came into his own hand, and all of his energy drained from him with it.

He lay there for a moment, saying nothing—not that he knew what to say, anyway. A man had just gotten him off. A complete stranger with a somewhat gravelly voice and facial hair apparently worth mentioning. It wasn’t even difficult! He had no idea how to deal with that. What did it mean for and about him? What had he gotten himself into? It shouldn’t have even fucking worked.

He reached for a box of tissues and set about cleaning himself off. As he did so, Cas calmly spoke into his ear. “So, what’s the verdict?”

Dean sighed. “You win.”

“Oh, don’t sound so disappointed! In this game, everyone wins.”

“Yeah, right.” Everyone not about to have an existential meltdown about their masculinity and sexual leanings wins. This guy didn’t care that he was on the verge of a complete and total freak out. That, though he tried desperately to avoid thinking about it entirely, the thoughts running through his head were making him utterly miserable. What did it mean about who he was? About what he wanted and liked? Hell, could he even be considered a man after what he’d done? This dude got paid irrespective of the answer.

Cas put the paperweight down and took another sip of water. Placing a big checkmark near Dean’s name on the paper, “You’re worried about the implications, I gather?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not—”

“Listen, Dean. I’ve been doing this a long time, with all types of people. One thing I’ve learned is that there really is no reason to have a life crisis over it. Don’t panic. It just doesn’t matter that much.”

“No offense, but that’s easy for you to say.”

“Maybe, but I’m right. This isn’t about an identity or anything like that. It’s about being happy and having a little fun.” Cas felt like he couldn’t use the word “fun” enough with this caller. It was a concept he didn’t seem to understand except in fleeting moments. “So long as no one gets hurt, you should do whatever you enjoy.”

“Not everybody has that luxury.”

Cas tilted his head to one side, “What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be happy?”

“It’s never that simple.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” He wrote the words “ _regular customer”_ and, as an afterthought, added a giant question mark next to them. “This is as simple as it gets, and if you don’t think you deserve to have a good time, that’s fine, I suppose. It’s your life. But, if and when you do, as it turns out, I’m looking for new repeat clients.”

“What?”

“Clients—people I give my direct number to. If I’m available, we can talk any time you want, and you’ll also be able to make an appointment if I’m not around.”

Again? Why would he want to do this a second time? He wished he hadn’t done it in the first place! He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to do it. “Why would you want me for that? You that desperate for money?”

“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “You really don’t think much of yourself, do you? No, not desperate at all. In fact, I’m getting more selective. People who really enjoy my services and get the most out of it—physically and emotionally—those are the people I want as clients. Plain and simple. So, what do you say, Dean? Want my number?”

He took another look around the room and then back at himself. He gritted his teeth, but after a long pause: “Okay.” He didn’t lose anything by taking the number, after all. Nobody would force him to call.

Cas read it out slowly, and he scribbled it down on a scrap of paper before shoving it into his wallet for safekeeping.  “Call again sometime,” he insisted. “And take care of yourself. Goodbye, Dean.”

He hung up before the hunter could get out an answer.

***

He didn’t have another free moment for over a week, but when he did, it took more than an hour to get up the courage to call.

“This is Cas—Dean!” came his surprised voice on the other line. “Nice to hear from you, again. How are you?”

He snorted. “You didn’t think you would.”

“I dunno about that. I gave it about a fifty-fifty chance.” That was a lie. He confidently believed Dean would call back eventually. The only unexpected part was how soon. “What can I do for you this evening? More of the same?”

“Whatever you think, umm, would be good.”

Cas gave one of those wonderful laughs. He paced across the room—the small office he’d set up in his apartment—and lit a few red candles. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

***

“The place only takes cash,” Sam stood impatiently at the door. With his arms folded across his chest and a grimace on his face, he didn’t seem to be in a great mood, overall. He hadn’t been for days, and Dean still had no idea why. “And I’m out,” he added.

Dean turned back to the game. He didn’t really care about either team, but the motel’s shitty cable gave very few other options. “On the nightstand.”

He walked past him to retrieve Dean’s wallet, and fished around until he found a couple of twenties. Pausing, Sam also pulled out an old bar receipt. The transaction date was a week ago, and Dean never kept receipts for anything. On the back was a phone number. “Who’s ‘Cass’?” Sam asked immediately.

Dean’s stomach dropped to the floor. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt like he might hurl. “ _Don’t say it_ ,” repeated in his head. “ _Anything but what it really is_.” Even if he lied about the gender, he would still have to explain why someone who could land a different woman every night would also want to call and pay for it. Panicking, “A psychic. You know, like a real one.” It wasn’t that far-fetched. Half the time it felt like Cas was at least a little clairvoyant—since he was a genius at reading people, or at least at reading Dean.

“A what?!” he laughed uneasily. “Dude, you’re not serious! Didn’t think you believed that stuff.”

“Hey, we’ve seen a lot crazier—and anyway, people who have visions and shit aren’t exactly a new thing for us,” he glared at his brother, who only last year had been having premonitions of his own. “I figured it might come in handy down the line. You never know.”

Sam snorted and put his wallet down. “And you thought you could talk to Dad,” he surmised.

Dean winced. “Yeah, maybe.” He thought for sure he would go to Hell for this one. But Sam handed him the perfect excuse.

“Did you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

Sam decided to drop it. “Okay, so, bacon cheeseburger—no pickles—fries, chocolate milkshake, and… pie, of course,” he recited. “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” He left the room at a leisurely pace, but hurried away the moment he was out of sight. With the receipt still cupped in his hand, Sam figured he had enough time for a quick phone call before picking up the food.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him, per say, but more that it was so out of character. Why would he hide that he talked to a physic? If anyone would understand, it’d be Sam. Was he embarrassed? Something had to be up. He just knew it. He didn’t need demon mojo to get that vibe, either.

He dialed the number. It rang a long time before there was an answer. “Hello, this is Cas, sorry for the wait. Oh, Dean, is that you? You got a new phone, but the area code’s the same.” A man? When Sam didn’t immediately reply, the guy kept talking. “Something wrong, Dean?” After another moment, “Who is this?”

“Uh, no, I’m a friend of Dean’s.”

Cas cleared his throat. “This is a private number. He shouldn’t have given it to you.” Dean was a new client. Could it be possible that he really didn’t understand how the routing system worked? Or that Cas was very particular about the people to whom he provided his services? But he couldn’t imagine Dean was telling people—not this soon.

Sam leaned against Dean’s car and adjusted the cellphone against his ear. “He didn’t. I found it.” Well, stole it in a giant invasion of privacy. Same difference, right?

“That’s nice. What a great friend you must be to rifle through his things. Goodbye now.”

“Wait!” Sam pressed, determined to get an answer. “I’m not trying to snoop, I swear. I just—I thought you might be able to help me.”

“Oh, yeah? With what? Homework? I don’t know who you are, but this is not how I do business.”

“I need to talk to someone.”

“Get a shrink.”

“No, I don’t think that would work.” He had yet to meet a therapist who specialized in depressed monster hunters.

Cas sighed and took a long look at the clock. He had just under an hour before he should get going. “What’s your name?”

“Sam.”

“What can I help you with, Sam?”

“I-I’m not sure. I just—I’m not normal.” Demon blood coursing through his veins, killing creatures for a living, no real home or career, and no family to speak of except for Dean…

“Nobody is, Sam. Just be who you are. Do what you like.” Insert any other cliché statement of advice he could think of to boost self-confidence. He actually had a list of good phrases for that, but this guy wasn’t paying him, so he couldn’t bother finding it.

“People get hurt when they’re around me.” Jess. His own mother. Dean a few hundred times, technically, if all the battle scars could be counted.

Cas searched for a bad gut feeling about the newcomer but came up empty. “You don’t hurt them, though, do you, Sam?”

“No, they just always get hurt.”

“And you think you’re what? Cursed?”

That was a very specific word to use. What if he really was cursed somehow? What if having demon blood meant that he always would be? Could this guy be able to tell over that the phone? “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure you’re not cursed, Sam,” he tried to be reassuring. It sounded like this kid—had to be in his mid-twenties by the sound of him—shared Dean’s self-esteem issues. But, if they were that much alike, then maybe it was worth taking the time on this one, too. “What do you do for fun?”

“I mostly just work.”

Of course. “Oh, come on. No one can work all the time. No one should.”

Sam didn’t know how much to tell this guy. He took a moment to be creative. “I go hunting sometimes.” If the psychic knew what their type of hunter was, he’d pick up on the terminology and get his real meaning, even without using any clairvoyant ability.

Cas looked up at the ceiling. He never understood why some men felt the need to go out and kill things when going to a grocery store was both easier and a thousand times more civilized. But to each his own. He could work with that. “Bet you would really appreciate coming home to someone after a long day of that, wouldn’t you?”

Sure, he would, but the last real one ended up pinned to a ceiling and on fire. “Wouldn’t work out.”

“But you’d want that all the same,” Cas insisted. “Someone to tend to your sore muscles, listen to your stories—look after you in exactly the ways you’ve been missing.”

“So, you’re a mind-reader, then?” he deduced. The guy was good. He would’ve killed for that ability over premonitions of people dying.

Cas laughed. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be.”

“If you had a person like that, and you knew for sure everything would be all right, would you let yourself have fun?” He barely had to think to produce this kind of talk. It was so basic and textbook, he could do it in his sleep.

“Sure.”

Time for the pitch. “Well, then, you’ve come to the right place, Sam. So, what’ll it be? I can top if you want, or—? Or maybe you switch it up. I could make it a surprise. A little adventure? You seem like the type for that.”

“What?!” Sam’s voice carried across the parking lot, and he hoped no one heard him. Lowering the volume, “Wha-I don’t—I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“God, you and Dean could be twins. Listen. I’ll give you the same spiel I gave him. I’m not gonna call up your coworkers and tell them about the wild gay phone sex you’ve been having. It wouldn’t be good for business.”

Sam sat down in the car quickly. He wasn’t sure he could stay upright. “Dude, you—you’re a phone sex worker?” He closed the door and rolled down the window.

Cas cursed. “What the hell did you think I was?” He ran the conversation over in his head, but couldn’t imagine this kid didn’t know. Was he really that dense? And damnit, if he was, this meant that Cas had just outted one of his clients. He swore again, this time with his mic covered.

“A psychic.”

It was so ludicrous that Cas would have laughed if the potential consequences weren’t so grim. “Yeah, no. Miss Cleo’s at a different number.”

Practically hyperventilating, Sam covered his mouth with his hand as his mind raced. His brother, the womanizer, was calling a sex hotline—to speak with, and to do God knows what with—a man? This man? He couldn’t even imagine, and didn’t really want to, the full implications of that. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I-I’ve wasted your time.”

Cas found himself gripping the armrest of his chair until his knuckles were white. He had to do damage control, and fast, if it wasn’t already too late. “Look, you know things you shouldn’t know,” he said bluntly, “that I shouldn’t have told you. What are you going to do with that information?”

“What?”

Nausea crept up his esophagus. “I need some sort of assurance that you’re not going to go all hate crime on your friend. If not, then I need to warn him how I fucked this up or call the police or something.”

“Huh? What? No. No, Dean’s my brother. We’re family. And I’m not a homophobe or anything like that.” Sam felt a lump in his throat. “Seriously, I wouldn’t—you don’t have to worry about that. I’m just, uh, kinda surprised. I don’t think—I probably won’t even mention it.”

Cas let out a breath he’d been holding in. He didn’t feel wonderful, but at least some of the danger had diminished, assuming he could take Sam at his word. “Everybody has secrets. If it helps, I’m pretty sure this is relatively new for him, too.”

It didn’t. “Yeah.”  He hung up abruptly.

The dinner run was mostly a blur. He brought the food back and returned the offending piece of paper with Dean’s change. He didn’t say anything, and, when pressed, insisted he was just tired. He had no idea how he would bring it up even if he wanted to, so he thought it best just to avoid the subject all together.


	3. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the whole story at: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Sam twisted in the passenger seat. He could feel buzzing in his back pocket, but he couldn’t reach his phone without a little maneuvering. Once he retrieved it, he recognized the number instantly.

“Hey, Bobby,” he answered. “What’s up?”

He never bothered with small talk. “Had my ear to the ground like you asked for. Ain’t a whole lot out there, but I dug up a possible. Figure you boys might be gettin’ kinda antsy. You interested?”

“Hold on, lemme put you on speaker.” He fiddled with the device until he found the right button. Normally, on the rare occasion where Bobby or another hunter called Sam instead of his brother, he would simply take in all the details, share them with Dean, and then get back to them with an answer. But since he’d put the word out himself, as a means by which to avoid thinking about Dean’s new hobby, he hoped to play a bigger role in the decision to take another job. “Okay, go ahead.”

“All right,” he cleared his throat. “Well, there’s been reports scattered all over—we’re talkin’ multiple states, five or six—of a bunch of murders. Feds think they’re all connected. Same kind of victim every time. All ganked the same. A’course, their workin’ theory is it’s a serial killer, but it don’t feel like it’s up their alley. There’s too many of ‘em, too fast. Throats slit. Torn up like an animal got at ‘em. Half of ‘em in locked rooms. You get the drift.”

Dean scoffed.  “If it’s multiple states, how the hell are we gonna pin it down?”

They heard liquid pouring as Bobby fixed himself a drink. “You don’t think I already thought of that, you idjit? It’s a God damned pattern. The deaths started on the coasts, and it’s zeroin’ in on Illinois or Ohio. I dunno if it’s lookin’ for something or just gettin’ its rocks off killin’, but we know where it’s gonna be. And the thing’s got a damn type.”

“A type?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “What, like kids, hot chicks, corrupt politicians?”

Sam shot him a look at that second one, but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, a type,” Bobby seemed to spit at them through the phone. “All guys. Guys who like other guys. _Biblically_.” He took a drink. “And here’s the kicker, all fifteen of ‘em peddled sex by phone. I think that’s how it’s finding them. They’re using landlines, a lot of times from their houses. Any dipshit can figure out where a person lives if they have a phone number.”

Both of their hearts skipped a beat.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand, but rested the other on top of his front pocket, where his own cellphone waited. But Sam was in the car with him. It took an incredible amount of willpower not to reach for it or to say something. He forced himself to look straight ahead—to act like he wasn’t concerned.

On the other hand, Sam directed all of his attention to Dean. He saw the hunter’s muscles tense up and his face lose its color. He brought the phone closer to his lips. “Any idea what could be doing this, Bobby, and why? Maybe something religious, like a cult?”

“Could be. Might be a demon. You know a bunch of ‘em got some kinda rule where they can only kill people a certain way or during specific times and circumstances. Safe to say it’s something smart enough to use a phonebook. You can probably rule out witches, werewolves, and vamps. Ain’t nothing in it for ‘em, and the deaths don’t fit. I ain’t been to any of the sites, though I sure as hell tried. Only fresh ones are crawlin’ with Feds.” He sighed. “Best thing to do would be to get yourself a list of living folks who fit the description in those two states and track ‘em down, you know the drill. Maybe one of them’s got something this thing wants. A magic object maybe. Hell if I know what, but you’ll figure it out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam replied for them. He faked an innocent look at Dean, who only nodded. “We’ll look into it. Thanks, Bobby.”

“No problem. Good luck, boys. Let me know how it goes.”

When Sam hung up, he wasted no time at all. He turned to his brother and studied him. Though Dean considered himself adept at hiding his emotions, and certainly it worked on most people, his methods were useless with Sam, who could read indecision and fear all over his face. It was painful to look at, and he couldn’t take it for very long. “Call him,” he forced out.

Dean felt his breath catch in his chest. “Uh, call who?”

“Cas.”

Dean turned back to the road. He didn’t make eye contact or say anything. His eyes fluttered now and then, but otherwise his muscles seemed frozen in place. Sam had no intention of letting it go. “Dean,” he gulped. “It’s okay. I really don’t care.” When he still didn’t budge, “This sounds like a big case, and a lot of people are getting killed. He might know something we don’t. And—” Sam wasn’t sure if he should keep going, but he went for it. “And you can check to see if he’s okay.”

Fuck. Dean couldn’t help but glare at him at that. He didn’t know what was worse, that Sam knew—he had no idea how or for how long—or that he was making it out to be some sort of romance. He would’ve preferred him being pissed or uncomfortable to that.

But, he was, in fact, more than a little concerned, if only because it might mean getting cut off from his fix. And Sam was right. If anyone knew about what was going on past what they did, it would be someone who actually worked in the field. Without saying a word on the subject, Dean pulled out his phone, dialed Cas’s number, and waited.

Instead of an answer or the recording for when he was busy, there was simply a beep. Then, “ _The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service_.”

Dean closed his phone slowly and slid it back into his pocket.

“Not there?” Sam asked after a long, awkward silence.

“Disconnected.”

“Dean, that’s not good.”

Without looking at him, “No, it isn’t.”

***

Cas hurried around his apartment frantically. Where did he leave them? They weren’t in the tray by the door, or hung up on the nail—not in a jacket or on the floor anywhere. Where on earth did he put them? He stopped in the middle of his office, chest heaving. “Where…?” he asked himself aloud, scanning the room.

Then, it donned on him. He hadn’t been that drunk last night, but it was enough to leave his keys in his pants before sleeping it off. He found yesterday’s clothes in a heap on his bedroom floor. With the missing key ring in hand, he dashed out the door, grabbing an apple on the way.

He pulled up to his sister’s house only a few minutes late. She answered the door in heels and a blue dress. Giving him a warm hug, “Lucas! About time!” But she didn’t look angry.

She motioned for him to go inside, and followed him when he did. “The girls are upstairs. I think they’ve got _Scrabble_ or _Trivial Pursuit_ planned tonight. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.  Allie got her braces last week, so no sweets, especially taffy and gum. I cleared the house, but she might have a secret stash, so make sure. The banquet should be done around eleven, but I probably won’t be back ‘til one or one thirty.”

“Is Maddie still having nightmares?” He threw his coat over one of the dining room chairs.

“Not so much. It’s the craziest thing. Tom got her a stuffed cow, and it seems having a plush one around has warded off the angry, glowing-eyes cattle we’ve grown accustomed to hearing about,” she laughed.

“That’s great!”

“So, you shouldn’t have to worry about zombie cow-proofing the house again.”

“Hey, it was my honor.” He’d sat for two hours in a chair by the door, armed with a red plastic bat, ready to ward off any hooved attackers. They weren’t even near farmland, but try explaining that to a terrified eight-year-old.

She picked up her purse and walked back to the door. “Mom called.”

He stared at her. “Oh yeah?” There couldn’t have been less excitement in his tone.

“I made the mistake of mentioning you were babysitting.” She pursed her lips. “I really just didn’t want her to come over. Even less after sitting through another one of her rants. I can’t believe that woman.”

“I’ve given up on it, honestly. If she wants to spend the rest of her life filled with hate and bullshit, there really isn’t anything I can do about it.”

“You shouldn’t _have to_ do anything,” she patted him on the shoulder. “It’s ridiculous. I’d much rather have you watch them than her. She’d fall asleep at nine with a cigarette in her hand and burn the damn house down. Besides, the kids actually like you.”

“Well, of course!”

Opening the door, “Anyway, you’re okay doing this? I know it’s your birthday. And I didn’t even get you anything.”

He laughed. “It’s not until tomorrow, and, I mean, I forgot yours this year, too, so we’re even!”

“Still!” She hugged him. “All right, I’ve got to go. Call if there are any problems!”

Moments later, Cas’s nieces filed down the stairs, arms laden with board games. It had been about a month since Lynn had needed him to babysit, and this was his first time back, but they still seemed very happy to see him. Madison, the youngest, took only a few seconds to put the games down before running over to hug him. Alyssa opted instead for a wave. “Hi, Uncle Luke,” she greeted him.

He smiled wide at the two. If he ever had kids, he wanted ones exactly like them. They were wonderful.

***

Sam tracked down Cas fairly easily. A call from an FBI agent investigating the recent murders got the company to cough up all of the guy’s personal information in no time. It was scary how easy it went.

As it turned out, his real name was Lucas Peterson, and he lived in Illinois. When they arrived at his apartment, he wasn’t home. But, an elderly neighbor happily informed them that he was visiting with family, and gave an approximate address. Sam wanted to search the apartment, but Dean went pale at the thought, and he let it go.

They sat outside the house—a sizable white mansion in a wealthy suburban neighborhood—for just under an hour. Dean said very little and looked like he would rather be literally anywhere else. When Sam could take the silence no more, he got out of the car. Dean followed. They walked up to the door and rang the bell.

The guy who answered gave them a curious but warm smile. “Can I help you?” he asked in a familiar voice. Dean didn’t immediately react, but instead just stared at him with wide eyes. He looked—better than he’d imagined. His sky blue eyes were much rounder—kinder—and he just seemed generally happier than he’d pictured. Part of him figured the real Cas must be ugly or homely or not how he’d described, but he was exactly what he’d said, and try as he certainly did, Dean couldn’t look away.

Sam had no choice but to take the lead. “Hi, Mr. Peterson?” he said in his best official-sounding voice. “I’m Agent Van Zandt, and this is my partner Agent Clemmons.” They flashed their fake FBI badges. “May we come in?”

Cas leaned on the door frame. “Is this about the murders?” His face was filled with concern.

“Yes, sir. We’d just like to ask you a few questions. We think you might be able to help with the investigation.”

Squinting into the dark, Cas reluctantly agreed. “Not sure how I could, but yeah, I guess.”

They walked inside. In the dining room, two young girls with strawberry blonde hair and cartoon-patterned pajamas sat at the table. The smaller one was pondering her next move in some game neither brother recognized. Popcorn covered the table, and several cans of caffeine-free soda lay strewn around the scene.

When they saw Sam and Dean, though, they got up immediately, and backed away from them. “Uncle Lukie,” the little one said with fear in her voice. “What’s going on?!”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke directly to her. “They’re just police officers.”

“Did you do something wrong?” asked the older one.

“No, nothing like that, Allie.”

Sam immediately felt bad. “No, your uncle is actually gonna help us catch a bad guy,” he said carefully.

Cas walked up to her and put his hand on her head. Whispering, “Take your sister upstairs, okay?”

“Uncle Luke…”

“Just do it, all right? I need you to take care of your sister for awhile. I know you can do that.” And in an even lower voice so the two strangers couldn’t hear, “And lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me or your parents.” The look he gave the girl implored her to listen—to not make a fuss or question—for her own good, and for that of her little sister.

She sniffed, but did as he asked, guiding Maddie up the stairs and out of sight.

Cas took a moment to breathe. With his back turned to the two officers, he looked around the room briefly before grabbing a pair of heavy stainless steel scissors and pointing them right at the bigger guy. “Now, who are you really?!” he snarled. “You’re not fucking FBI.” His whole body shook. He was horrified, but he tried to hide it.

Sam took a step back and reached for his firearm.

Dean threw up his hands. “Whoa, hold on.”

“You made a fucking mistake coming here,” Cas warned. “You might have got the jump on those other guys, but if I’m going down, it’ll be swinging. And you won’t lay a fucking finger on those kids!”

Sam took his hand off his gun. “No, hey, we’re not here to hurt you.”

“Fuck you, you lying pieces of shit!” he spat, backing up against a set of drawers and nearly knocking over a potted plant. “You get off killing innocent people? Go to hell. And you can tell Patti and Bruce that I said ‘Hi.’ What, you think only nutjobs listen to rock music? I’ve seen them twice in concert, for fuck’s sake.” Agents Clemons and Van Zandt? Somehow, he doubted these two intruders played any instruments.

“No, listen, we’re not the killers,” Sam attempted to explain, putting on his most sympathetic look. “We’re trying to put a stop to it.”

“You saw Springsteen in concert?” was Dean’s less-than-helpful response. “What shows?”

Cas looked over at him with utter confusion. But if answering meant they wouldn’t kill him, he was more than happy to respond.  “What?—Uh, _Human Touch,_ when I was a teenager, and _Magic_.”

“Aww, man. I would’ve killed to go to those.” After a second, “I mean, not literally.”

“Dean!”

“What?!”

“Wait…” Cas walked up to him, still wielding the pair of scissors. “Dean?!” he growled in his face. “As in, my client Dean?” The voices could’ve been identical. Same scratchiness and tone.

Both hunters’ eyes widened as the error of what they’d done set in. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Cas shoved him, angrily. “Oh, this is a whole new level of creepy.” He turned to the other brother, “And you must be Sam, the only douchebag with worse trust issues than him! Get the fuck out of here before I call the police!”

“Wait!” Dean called up strength he didn’t think he had. When Cas turned back to him, he took hold of the guy by his shoulders. “Look at me. Look at my face. Do I seem like I’m here to hurt you, man?”

Cas reigned in his anger enough to study the stranger, but he still wasn’t sure.

“Do we look like we’re gonna hurt you or those kids?” Dean kept going. “Because we’re not. We wouldn’t. That’s not our deal.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” he asked with equal parts anger and fear.

Sam moved to answer, but Dean quieted him with a motion of his hand. Looking right at Cas, “We think you might be in danger,” he said with a surprising amount of poise, given how terrified he felt. “And we thought you might know something that could help us stop it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anything! I’m as terrified as the rest of us—the people at my company. I’m not even planning to work again until they catch the bastard!” After a second, “What do you mean, ‘stop it’? If you’re not FBI or cops, how could you do anything?”

Sam sat down on a couch in the adjoining room. “It’s our job,” he said plainly.

Cas looked to Dean for confirmation, and he nodded. “When people start getting hurt, we figure out what’s doing it, and we stop it.” He needed Cas to believe him.

“You mean ‘who.’ Who’s doing it.”

Sam stared at the man with as serious of an expression as he could muster. “Sometimes it’s a who. Sometimes it’s a what.”

“Now, I know you’ve fucking lost it.”

“Not quite,” said a voice from near the staircase. It was the younger girl—but by her posture and the look in her eyes—a sort of dead, _old_ look—they weren’t speaking to Cas’s niece.

Dean shoved his way between Cas and the girl, drawing his handgun and pointing it at her.

“What—what are you doing?!” Cas‘s voice caught in his throat, “Stay away from her!”

“She’s not—” But Dean didn’t know what to say that the guy would understand.

Sam got up and inched toward the kitchen, but the girl waved her finger at him. “Salt? Really, Sam? I’m tempted to let you try it just to see your reaction, but Cas and I have an appointment, so why don’t you return to your seat?” With a wave of her arm, he flew across the room and landed painfully on the floor next to where he’d started.

“You missed,” he groaned, and she giggled.

Cas backed into the table, dropping the scissors. “What—what’s going on?!”

“It’s not your niece,” Dean explained, keeping his eyes on her. “It’s whatever’s been killing those people.”

“Wrong again,” it replied, producing a broad and rather creepy smile. “That was a demon.”

“Like you,” Sam accused from the other room, coughing.

“Eww, gross,” it mimicked the reaction a little girl might have to a worm or insect. “No, don’t be silly. Try thinking outside the box a little. You are hunters, aren’t you?”

“Let her go,” Cas protested under his breath, looking at the floor. “I don’t care what you do to me. Just let her go,” he managed to speak a bit louder.

“Cassie boy, you don’t recognize your old friend? It’s me, Bal! We fought together for centuries!” the creature insisted, sauntering up to them. “You really don’t have any memories, do you? They didn’t let you keep anything?”

Planting himself firmly between the girl and Cas, “Memories of what?”

“Oh, literally all of creation. I don’t think you would understand. Move aside, now.” With another motion, Dean flew into the refrigerator and saw stars. Plastic letters and papers fell around him. What demon had that kind of power?

“I’m going to make this easy on you,” it explained, advancing on Cas. “And just give them back. I’ve got a glowing ball of heavenly grace with your name on it.” She pulled over a chair and climbed on top of it. He stood frozen in fear as she reached up and touched his forehead.

All at once the room filled with white light, and a tidal wave of emotions, thoughts, experiences—thousands upon thousands of years-worth—flooded into him. He couldn’t control it, couldn’t make sense of it all. It was too much.  Wars, creatures, colors, energy. He _saw_ energy. He felt the being, the thing that had taken over the girl—his niece, right?—yes, of course she was—trying to pull him away, out of his body, out of this place. He wanted to go, too. He was supposed to go. It was his time. He could feel it.

But these people were in danger. Those children left in his care—they were in harm’s way. What if this creature planned to hurt them? He couldn’t let that happen.

He fought it. Drew that energy back into himself. Shoved it deep down into his stomach and locked it inside. He thought for sure it might destroy him, blow him to pieces and leave nothing left. But he fought all the same.

And, in a flash, he was back in his sister’s dining room. He looked around, but everything had a different sheen on it. Everything felt strange. And he’d changed, too. His head was filled to the brim with thoughts and memories he barely recognized. He couldn’t sort them out, couldn’t access them right. There were holes everywhere. Blurry and unreachable parts. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

Cas dropped to the ground, clutching at his head. He let out a whimper. “Oh God.”

“You stupid stubborn asshole,” said the creature. “Fucking hell. That body’s not a vessel. Not like this one,” she tugged on the little girl’s shirt. “Yours is a fucking prom tuxedo—or one of those ugly, disposable rain coats. It can’t take the kind of wear and tear you’re putting on it. Stop being a dumb shit, Castiel, and come with me.”

“Castiel?” Dean muttered, gripping his stomach in pain.

“No,” he growled from the floor, forcing himself to his knees. His voice was much scratchier than before. Strained. “I’m needed here.”

“You’re needed at home!” it argued. “Your garrison needs you. We’ve been waiting patiently for thirty-three years, and now it’s time for you to come home.”

“I must protect them.”

“No, you’re just confused. The only reason anyone was in danger in the first place is because the boys downstairs caught wind of your little earthly punishment. I haven’t the slightest idea how, but they did. The moment you leave, there won’t be anything left to look for. Will you come on, already? Please, Cas.”

“You don’t have to do whatever it is she wants,” Dean staggered to his feet, and glared at the kid. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you have choices, Cas. There are always choices.”

He looked over at him, eyes glassy and pained. “You don’t know what I am.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “I don’t care. Every human and every walking-around thing is capable of making a choice.”

“But I—I think I’m—I’m a—”

“He’s an angel of the Lord,” it finished for him. “His name is Castiel. He’s a soldier for God, and he is needed in the Kingdom of Heaven.” Turning to him, “Your punishment is over, Castiel. You should rejoice. You can return to us, now.”

“No such thing,” was Dean’s first response. Then, “Even if there is, he doesn’t have to go with you.”

“Yes, he does.”

“What-uh—what was I being punished for, again?”

She sighed. “Oh, Cas. You must stop being so adorable. I might grow accustomed to it!” She hopped down from the chair. “You hesitated when given a direct order.”

“What order?”

“A town in Georgia was supposed to be leveled.”

He let out a sob. “And I was supposed to do it?”

“Of course. You and the garrison.”

“But I refused?”

“No!” she laughed. “For that, you would have been smited, obviously. You merely hesitated. At the end of the mission, the higher ups determined you needed a little time out. We lobbied for you, though. Got it down to Messiah-level. They wanted to stick you with a century or more!”

“I killed a whole town?” his voice dripped with despair.

“You’ve killed a lot more than that! You’re an excellent warrior. To be honest, the fact that you did hesitate came as a surprise to all of us. Look, this body is making you think about this all wrong. I promise things will make a lot more sense when you’re back to normal.”

A realization slowly hit him. “I was your boss.”

“Well, yeah!” the vessel laughed again. “I was—I am—your best lieutenant. Why do you think they sent me to bring the good news?”

“Good news?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand your definition of good news.”

“Cas, please. Come back to us. The garrison hasn’t been the same without you. We miss you.”

After a long pause, “I’m stronger than you, aren’t I?” 

The creature took a step back, and the girl’s face contorted to an expression of fear. “Back in the day, maybe. What are you—?”

“Get lost.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out of here. Out of my niece. Out of this house.”

“This is a big mistake, Cas. You disobey—they’ll come after you. You’ll have the whole damn army gunning for you. Listen to me. You can still come home. I won’t tell them what you’ve said. I promise. We just want you back.”

“Get out!” he yelled in her direction. A flare of white light filled the room again, and the little girl collapsed on the ground.

The three adults cowered in their respective places. Dean was the first to break the silence. “Sammy, you okay?” he called over to him.

He nodded. “I’ll live.”

Cas lifted himself off the floor a little to look at the motionless body of his niece. Fearing her dead, he dragged himself over to her. “Maddie?” his voice cracked. “Please be alive. Maddie! Maddie, wake up.”

Dean limped over and dropped to the floor next to them. He let the side of his hand rest under her nose for a few seconds before taking it away. “She’s still breathing.”

Sam scooped her up and brought her over to the couch, making sure to prop up her head.

Very clearly upset, Cas surveyed the room. Tears welled in his eyes and worked their way down his cheeks. “This is my fault. I am responsible.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” Dean tried to reassure him.

“I’m a monster. I kill people.”

“That’s not who you are.”

“But it is! That—that’s me, too. I remember it—some of it, at least.” So much was missing, though. What was left came in flashes, mixed in with the life he’d had on earth, overlapped it, and meddled with it.

“Look.” Dean took hold of the collar of Cas’s shirt. “I don’t know what you were before. I don’t. What I do know is that you were offered a chance to go back to it, and you turned it down. You told the sonuva bitch to fuck off. You were warned there would be consequences, but you didn’t care.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, yes, it does!” He shook him. “You made a choice. And maybe the other you was on his way to doing it, too. Maybe that’s what the hesitation was all about. Rebellion woulda got you killed, but hesitation got you a ticket away from the _Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God_ -type bullshit.”

“Rebellion would have been heroic. It would have saved people.” His eyes were distant, and Dean guessed he was replaying it in his head.

“Yeah, but it would’ve been stupid,” Sam pointed out.

Dean kept his gaze on Cas. “You can’t change it now. You can only try and do better.”

Cas stared back at him for a long time. He could see the energy that made him up—a sort of healthy reddish-gold glow that peaked out on the edges and lines of his face if he focused long enough. In Dean’s eyes, which were an almost impossible green already, Cas could follow the flow down into him if he wanted, and take a look at the outskirts of his soul. But he pulled back and opted instead to study the faint freckles scattered around his nose.

The man’s expression was one of concern—and a bit of fascination, too.

After all, it wasn’t every day Dean met an angel, even if it was one who’d just cut himself off from everyone and everything he once knew and cared about—and decided to lock himself in a body that wasn’t meant to hold him in his full form.

Signs of the last part of that decision were starting to show all over him. Cas’s face had grown a lot paler than it was when they’d first seen him, and his eyes were red around the edges. His whole body ached and even burned in some places. He felt nauseous and dizzy, and it didn’t seem like he could fill his lungs with enough oxygen.

He had to actively hold the physical form together. It wanted to rip apart, break down, burn up.  He could feel it getting damaged on the inside. Unlike with a real vessel—a person with special genetic qualities that make him or her viable for use by an angel—this body was only designed to hold his most basic self. It also didn’t seem to heal automatically like a vessel would, using an angel’s energy as a power source. In fact, it seemed he was now hurting it, and he had to focus to fix the damage.

Coughing, he covered his mouth and came away with blood in his hand. Dean looked at it with surprise, “You gonna be okay?”

He shook his head. “I-I’m not certain.”

Dean blinked at the way he was speaking. It sounded just a little older, a little more out of touch. It was still very much the Cas he’d grown accustomed to, but he’d changed.

He coughed again—a heavy, hacking cough—and this time Dean saw bright light shine out, followed quickly after by more blood. His eyes began to droop, and his head sagged. The arm that held his torso off the ground was shaking.

Sam appeared to Dean’s right. “He doesn’t look so good.”

Licking his lips, Dean tried desperately to maintain composure. “Cas? Cas, talk to me. Let us help you. Tell us how to help you.”

Cas reached up and touched Dean’s chin. “Make sure the girls are okay for me, will you? And close your eyes. Close them now. It will hurt you if you don’t. I can’t hold it back any longer, Dean. Close your eyes!”

He thought it wise to follow his direction, but he wasn’t prepared to give up. He cupped Cas’s head in his hands and lifted it up so he could press his forehead against the angel’s. “No, Cas. You don’t have anywhere you can go now. You have to stay. You have to fight. Fight it, Cas. You kicked that other angel’s ass like it was no big deal. You can handle this, too. “

With one hand clasped over his eyes, Sam listened to Dean’s pleading with a level of curiosity. It was one thing to know that his brother had some sort of thing with this guy, but now he was witnessing it in action. The pain in his voice—it was real.

“I can’t,” came Cas’s weak protest.

“Yes, you can,” Dean returned immediately. He held onto him tight, as though he could physically tether the angel to this world if he just kept a good grasp on him. “Find a way. Fight it. You’re strong enough. You need to. Do it, Cas.”

Castiel could feel the bones in his human form break into pieces. His muscles shredded under the pressure, and his blood burst through the walls of his veins. The white hot essence of himself, a sort of fiery raw energy used as a gateway between his incorporeal _true_ self and the world of humans, broke out of him in cracks and cuts all along the body.

It was torture. Tied down to the physical, he was forced to feel every break, every cut, and every bit of damage done.  

But Dean was right. Cas didn’t have anywhere else to go. He couldn’t go back, not after what he’d just done. His options were extremely limited. He could find a real vessel, but that required the person to consent, and the only vessel he knew of for sure was little Madison—who he had absolutely no intention of putting through any more hardship. And, anyway, while she was somehow able to support Balthazar, Cas was, in fact, a lot stronger. Even if he were heartless enough to try, it could very well be disastrous.

His mind raced. He pulled the power back into himself once more and tried to mend the broken form as best he could. After a few minutes, he brought it back to somewhat useable. But, it was anything but stable. Blood dripped from his nose, ears, and mouth. He could barely see. The unrelenting power raged against the inside of his body in waves like a hurricane hitting the walls of a coastal building. It simply could not be contained or kept at bay.

So, he had to get rid of it. But if he did, whatever parts of himself he let go, he would never be able to get back. And, perhaps even more importantly, it would be pain like he’d never experienced. It could even kill him. One angel had described the process—theoretical only—as being tantamount to sawing off multiple limbs with a dull knife covered in acid. But that angel had never done it, nor had anyone else he was aware of, so it could have just been a story—Cas reassured himself with that thought.

He started with what he hoped was a chunk of his own strength—the force he would put behind a blow in battle, the extra power that made him stronger than Bal. And then he added more on top of it, something a little more necessary but nonetheless preventing him from staying in this shell. Without the raw energy selected, he wouldn’t be powerless, but he would be weak. Gritting his teeth and hunkering down inside the body, he ripped and tore at it with his own claws.

The pain was indescribable. It filled up and radiated over him, stretched out from the gash, and lit him on fire. It was at once a conflagration and a tempest, and it threatened to eat him alive.

And it was done.

The edges burned, but once the chunk was removed, it didn’t really hurt anymore. Or at least, it hurt so much less that he could hardly tell in that moment if the pain persisted.

With the energy sliced away, he had to disconnect it from the body. He could throw it deep into the earth maybe, but he might not have the strength to. Or—or he could feed it into a nuclear reactor, a large, untapped power source that would simply consume it.

The human soul.

It would have to be Dean’s. Castiel wasn’t stable or healed enough to move, and, anyway, Dean was already touching him. With resolve, Cas put both of his hands on Dean’s upper arms, and addressed him in a whisper.“You can open your eyes.”

He did so, looking straight into Cas’s own. “You okay?” There was an unnatural light in his pupils: an undeniable sign that the man who sat before him wasn’t quite what he looked like.

“I will be.” He had to work hard to force his body to breathe and function. Nothing wanted to operate on its own. Without a real connection, the body simply wanted to die. “But I need your help, Dean.”

Without hesitation of any kind, “Just tell me what to do.”

As the uncontrolled excess energy slipped from his grasp with every passing second, Castiel couldn’t wait any longer. He closed the gap between them and kissed him.

Dean made a noise of surprise. He guessed that Cas didn’t think he’d make it, that the act might be an attempt at having a half-second of fun before certain demise. Dean couldn’t deny him that. Even with Sam in the room. He could come up with an excuse later, or just avoid the matter entirely. But in this moment, he didn’t care about the repercussions. It was the right thing to do. He leaned into it, his left hand drifting to the back of the angel’s neck.

Dire situation aside, he didn’t exactly hate it, either. He’d spent enough time trying to imagine what this might be like. Now that he had it? He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he enjoyed it a little.

But what the hunter didn’t know about the exchange could have filled the whole room. As much as it might have been pleasurable for Cas under another circumstance, it was merely the most convenient mechanism available. He could transmit the energy through any sort of touch, but it would burn the otherwise defenseless human. The soul was a powerful thing. However, the body was fragile. In an attempt to deliver it as quickly as possible, Cas opted for the kiss, in tandem with his hands on Dean’s upper arms. With the connections made, he poured the energy into him. It streamed out as fast as he could make it, searing into the man’s flesh.

Dean cried out, but the sound was muffled. He kicked and fought, struggled to get away. Castiel easily held him in place. It was too late to stop. A line of blood trickled out from between them and ran down the side of Dean’s chin. He gripped Cas’s shirt and twisted it in pain. He closed his eyes—clouded with sheer panic and agony—but opened them again out of fear he might die with them closed. Cas locked his gaze with the hunter’s, trying to convey that it would be over soon—and, more importantly, that he was sorry it had come to this.

In a flash, the energy that had once been a part of him disappeared into Dean’s soul. Drained and damaged, Cas let him go and slumped onto the floor. He gripped at his abdomen. His body was still very injured. With his remaining strength, he set about putting as much of himself back together as he could.

Dean couldn’t breathe. He coughed, and to his horror, blood poured out of his mouth and onto the floor. His chest ached, his head pounded, and his arms felt like they were on fire. “I’m dying,” he managed between coughs.

“No,” Castiel replied simply.

Sam rushed over to help. He went to touch Dean, but decided against it, fearing he would only hurt him further. Where a suit jacket and shirt had once been, now were hand-shaped holes, revealing seared skin. Sam could only imagine what the angel had done to his brother’s insides. “No?! He’s losing so much blood!” he shouted in Cas’s direction. “You bastard, what did you do to him?! I-I don’t know how to stop it—I can’t—”

“It’s not his,” Cas spat on the floor for effect. He let out a weak laugh, his teeth stained red. He’d be dead several times over if he weren’t actively healing himself.  He found a sort of dark amusement in that. Choosing to heal this broken body and in doing so ripping apart himself? It didn’t seem like the sanest of decisions. And though the reasons had all been laid out for him, he couldn’t quite grasp why he ended up doing it.

Dean’s face contorted as the realization set in. “This is—your blood?!” He wiped at his mouth. “Oh fuck. Dude, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

It took a few more moments of mending before Castiel could be sure that his body wouldn’t die. So long as he was careful, it seemed like it might hold what was left of him.

“What did you do, anyway?” Sam asked, going to the now-dented refrigerator and grabbing a couple of beers. He stopped halfway, eyed a bottle of vodka suspiciously, and then decided to bring that, too. He handed the hard stuff over to his brother. “Russian disinfectant.”

Dean took a long drink of it and grimaced.

“I had to get rid of a lot of the stuff that makes an angel powerful,” he explained.

“What, like your mojo?” Dean opened one of the beers and rubbed at his head.

“Like unrefined, concentrated energy.”

Sam tilted his head to one side. “And you, what, put it in Dean?”

Castiel nodded. “Into his soul. It is the only place where it could not be used or tapped into by anyone.”

“Wait, hold on,” Dean looked like he might faint. “You just—popped off a chunk of yourself—and put it in me for safekeeping?!”

Cas shook his head. “I wish it were that easy. But, no. I cut out about a quarter of myself and fed it into your soul—to kill it. It’s either gone completely or not something I could ever get back.” He closed his eyes and looked away. “I’m sorry you were hurt in the process, Dean. I tried to keep it minimal.”

Dean studied him for what felt like a long time. “And you can stay, uh, like this, now?” he motioned toward Cas’s human form.

Nodding slowly, “Yes.”

A noise from the living room broke into their conversation. Maddie sat up from the couch, her hair tangled and half covering her face. She smoothed it back nonchalantly and walked into the kitchen to survey the scene.  Looking at the blood first and then at the Winchesters, she kept a stern face. But, when her eyes settled on Cas, she smiled. “Uncle Lukie! You’re still here!”

He forced a smile in return. “Maddie! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Lukie,” she hopped up on a chair at the table and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Balthazar said he was gonna take you away, but you’re still here!”

“Yeah, Maddie, he’s still here. But, he’s gonna have to go on a little vacation for awhile,” Sam responded, staring right at the angel. They didn’t have a choice. They had to bring him with them or else he and everyone he knew would be at risk, not only from demons but quite possibly from angels, as well.

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Madison cut in. “Because the angels are really angry?”

“Just a little bit,” Sam replied.

She sniffed. “But you can’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Maddie.” Cas had a hard time looking at her.

“Allie’s still asleep, and Mom’s not home yet!”

Dean stood up unsteadily and leaned on the wall. “We’ll get going when your Mom comes home,” he said as cheerily as possible. “Besides, we need to clean up, first. We made a pretty big mess, didn’t we?”

She nodded.

“Any idea when Allie’s going to be awake?” Dean’s question was for Cas. It didn’t seem like a coincidence that the girl, who’d been entrusted with protecting her sibling, just happened to lose consciousness around the same time the younger one got scooped up by an angel.

“Maddie, why don’t you go and wake your sister so she can help you get ready for bed,” Castiel directed. “It’s past your bedtime.”

“Okay, Uncle Lukie.” She made for the staircase, but stopped and walked over to Cas. Hugging him, “I could have told you you were an angel, Uncle Lukie.”

Surprise flashed across all three of their faces. “What?” Dean asked.

“What-uh—why didn’t you?” Cas felt dizzy.

“I thought everybody knew already.” She shrugged and climbed her way up the stairs.

With her out of sight, Sam began to wipe up the blood from the floor. He had at least one or two broken ribs after Balthazar tossed him into the next room, but he was still in far better shape than the other two. Cas managed to get himself up for a short time, but soon began wobbling and had to sit down at the table. Still, he set about cleaning up after the late night snacking and board games. Dean finished his beer and kept watch at the front window.

After a few minutes of bringing back some semblance of order to the place, and at least getting rid of all the blood, it was time to go. Castiel protested leaving the girls alone for any length of time, but their mother would be back any moment, and it would be impossible to explain the Winchesters and the three’s respective bodily damage, let alone the giant dent in their refrigerator where Dean had been tossed into it.

Cas shakily wrote a note and left it on the table. “ _Lynn, I had to leave. It’s an emergency. The girls are safe. I stayed as long as I could. I’m sorry. –Lucas”_

The three hobbled out the front door, with Sam and Dean supporting Cas all the way to their vehicle. Pain shot from a dozen different places in him as they walked. Sam helped him into the back, and he lay down on the seats. Dean limped his way to the driver’s side, got in, and started the engine. Sam jumped in the passenger’s side, and they took off.

“This is a really nice car,” Cas said once they were out of the wealthy neighborhood.

Dean eventually managed a reply. “Just try not to bleed on the seats, man.”

***

Castiel was asleep again. In the days that followed the night at his sister’s house, he seemed to be out more often than he was conscious. Each time he woke, he seemed a little healthier, however, so the brothers simply let him rest. They hadn’t had any more close encounters with angelic kind—not that they would know what to do if and when the things came calling. In the meantime, they could get some much needed R&R of their own.

Sam said very little about the more sensitive specifics of the night’s events. And Dean was more than happy not to talk about it, but he knew he probably would have to eventually. He tried not to do or say anything to encourage discussion. Instead, he opted to remain distant. But it was obvious to the younger Winchester that Dean was in rough shape. He wasn’t sleeping so much as drinking until he passed out. He wouldn’t go near Cas if he could help it, or even look at him. His appetite was nonexistent, and he just seemed ill and uncomfortable all the time.

For his part, though, Dean thought he was dealing with the new events quite well, considering how completely life shattering it all was.

During this particular afternoon nap, Cas’s cell phone buzzed repeatedly. Five text messages and two missed calls across the span of three and a half hours. Dean considered waking him up for them—breaking his aloofness and addressing the angel directly—or snooping, but he did neither. He merely counted the exact number and pretended to be looking for a new possible job on Sam’s computer.

On the sixth text message, Sam looked up from a book on ancient Korean mythology. “Cas is popular,” he smiled a little, looking over at their sleeping guest.

Dean didn’t look away from the screen. “They’re probably starting to realize he’s missing.”

“Yeah, I just think it’s funny—an angel getting texts.”

He awoke a few minutes later. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he reached for the phone, grimaced, and began reading the messages. Most of them were from his sister.

_”1:58 p.m. –Lynn: That cop came by again. More questions. They towed your car somewhere. I didn’t want to let them take it. I guess I just got used to seeing it there._ ”

“ _2:14 p.m. – Lynn: I called them for the millionth time. I found more blood under our fridge, Lucas. They’re sending someone over… again. God, what did they do to you?_ ”

“ _2:20 p.m. – Lynn: I’m horrified I’m never going to see you again. Please just be okay_ ”

“ _2:22 p.m. One missed call – Lynn_ ”

“ _3:34 p.m. – Aaron F.: Missed u in class today. R u all right? This is the 2nd day this week_ ”

He hadn’t even thought about the classes he was skipping, nor had he imagined anyone at the community college he once attended would actually notice his absence. Aaron was his study partner in a psychology methods course. In another life, he planned to become a social worker.

“ _4:01 p.m. – Aaron F.: Shit, man. Ur missing?! There’s a rumor goin around that ur a missing person. Fuck I hope ur OK_ ”

“ _4:15 p.m. One missed call – Will County Sheriff’s Department_ ”                                                    

“ _4:17 p.m. – WCCC: Alert - Police report a WCCC student has been listed as missing. Foul play suspected. It is strongly encouraged that students do not walk alone on and to and from campus, especially at night. If you see any suspicious persons, contact Campus Security right away._ ”

Cas ran his hand through his hair and set the phone down. He sat up and stared at the device. “My sister thinks I’m dead,” he muttered in a low voice. Turning to Dean, “Are you sure I can’t call her? I wouldn’t have to tell her where I am—just that I’m not face down in a ditch somewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replied, not looking at him.

Sam put the book down. “Maybe you should get rid of that phone. It can’t be fun reading all those, and you’ll always be tempted.”

Cas snorted. “No way. I want to see them.”

Dean closed the laptop. “You don’t need to punish yourself.”

“Yes, I do. They’re in pain. It’s my fault. The least I could do is acknowledge that it’s happening.” He picked up the phone and slid it into the chest pocket of the oversized flannel shirt he was wearing. This one belonged to Sam, and the arms were long enough to have the cuffs completely cover his hands if he let them. They’d refused to take him back to his apartment, and they were still too close to bring him into any stores, so he had to rely on borrowed clothing for the most part. His shirt from that night was covered in blood, and no amount of washing would get it out.

“How are you feeling?” Sam changed the subject.

“Better,” he said simply. “A little—hollow.” A little devastated.

“Are you happy this way?” Sam pressed. “I mean, that couldn’t have been easy.”

He looked over at the younger man with a solemn expression. “No.”

Dean covered his mouth with one hand and stared at the bar of light shining through the closed curtains of their motel room. All that, and the guy wasn’t even happy he’d gone through with it?

“There’s nothing I can do about it now,” he stood up and walked over to a paper bag filled with various food items Sam had picked up. Riffling through it, he picked out a bag of potato chips and opened it. “You know, it’s almost funny,” he said, examining the contents. “An angel in a vessel is never hungry. That need—it’s suppressed. The body doesn’t age during that time. It doesn’t sleep. It doesn’t even need to be cleaned. In fact, it doesn’t have any needs at all. It is fully and neatly sustained on its new power source.”

He picked out a chip, put it in his mouth, and chewed. Swallowing, “I was hungry for thirty-three years and never thought anything of it. I’ve had this brand dozens of times at least.” Another chip followed. “I still am hungry, but now I’m disgusted by it.”

“Nothing is automatic,” he took the bag over to the bed and sat back down. “I have to think to breathe, think to keep my heart beating. I don’t imagine I could leave this body if I needed to, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to come back to it. I’m not sure what would happen if it was damaged beyond my ability to repair it.”

“You’d die,” Dean said simply, though he, of course, didn’t know for sure. “Like the rest of us.”

“Maybe.” He set the bag down, but kept his eyes on it. “It’s just so strange. I have a family—and friends, to an extent. I miss them already. Why should I miss them?” he asked with a dull expression. “They don’t know what I am. I haven’t even known them for very long at all.”

“Because you’re human, too,” Dean supplied. “You have all the experiences—and a heart and a host of emotions like everyone else. It’s a good thing. A really good thing. It keeps you from being a monster.”

Cas shot him a defiant glance, but changed his mind and nodded. “You could be right.”

“I know I am.”

“I never hurt anyone when I thought I was just human,” he confirmed. “Otherwise, I’m a soldier. I’ve always been a soldier. Not just trained and practiced to be one—created to be one.”

“You can’t be that anymore, though,” Sam pointed out. “Either option. Instead, you can take pieces from both and do something new. The skills you had as a full-blooded angel might come in handy with us—considering our profession. What we do—killing monsters and demons—the kinds of things a soldier might know could be really useful for that.” He leaned back in his chair. “But, you have to keep that conscience, too, so you can figure out what is and isn’t a monster, and find the best way to save as many people as possible. I bet you can use that to help make decisions—and yeah, stay a person.”

“Wouldn’t that just mean I won’t be very good at either one?”

“You don’t have to be,” Dean answered. “Just find a good middle ground, preferably one that human-you can live with.”

His eyes stared into Dean, who tried desperately not to squirm in his seat. “Does it feel like anything?” Castiel asked.

Dean blushed and turned away from both of them. “What, you mean the angel juice? Fuck no. I mean, I swear I can still taste blood—gross, by the way,” he shivered, “but no. Nothing. It’s just me in here. Sorry.”

He gave a sad but definitive nod. “Good.”


	4. Gimme Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the whole story at: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

For days after, Dean tried to spend as little time alone with Cas as possible. The three worked their way south, putting several states between themselves and Illinois. In northern Mississippi, Sam took the angel shopping for clothes while Dean did a little research on his angry colleagues and any possible sightings. There wasn’t much Cas could tell them beyond the basics, as his brain was pretty much fried, but it was enough to give him an excuse to waste several hours on the internet.

The two started easily enough in a discount department store, picking up t-shirts, jeans—the essentials. Cas mostly chose basic colors, muted, but not boring. It was clear he loosely based the collection of items on what the Winchesters typically wore, minus any flannel and plus a little more vibrancy. The old him usually dressed a bit nicer than this stuff, but while he still identified with the reasoning for that, it really didn’t seem that important to him anymore.

Besides, he didn’t want to look out of place with them. A successful unit was cohesive, wore the same uniform if possible—worked as one, rather than as individuals. Since he was the new recruit, so to speak, he had to blend in with them.

Sam was content to follow him around as he picked up items, assuring him it would all easily be paid for. And, it was, with one of many fraudulent credit cards that the brothers relied on to support their little hobby.

With that taken care of, he changed out of the borrowed clothes in the store bathroom, and the two moved on to a higher-end place to pick up a couple of suits. Cas would need them, too, for jobs. They would make him a few fake IDs and show him the ropes. Dressing the part was half the battle.

“Just something simple, right?” Cas asked, looking over their options. “Like… _Men in Black_ meets _Pulp Fiction_?” He was proud of himself for that.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“Then let’s do that.”

“It’s okay to be you a little bit, too, you know,” Sam handed off the necessary items to an attendant. “Fit him for these?”

“Yes, sir,” said the smallish woman.

“I don’t know what that is,” he said in a low voice.

“You still have likes and dislikes, right?” When he nodded, “Start with that. Figure out what you want in the context of where you are or what you’re doing, then figure out if you can have that without hurting anyone, and then if you can, do it.”

“So much of it seems pointless. In the grand scheme of things…”

“You don’t fit into that the same way you used to, Cas.”

The woman walked Cas into a nearby room and began taking his measurements.

Sam made sure he was still in ear shot. “You have to live in the now a little more for this to work. You’ll go crazy thinking like that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he chose his words carefully, knowing full well that several ears were listening, “whatever you want it to mean. You roadtrip with us. You take up smoking. You watch more TV. Whatever. Hell, maybe it means—well—maybe it means you and my brother—”

“That’s not up to me.”

“No, it would be up to the both of you—and only the both of you.”

“Your opinion of it would matter more to him than mine,” he guessed. Dean had known him for only a couple of months, and really known him only a few days. The strength of his connection and even devotion to his sibling was easily noticeable in the way they interacted with each other. What Sam thought about Cas would carry more weight than anything the angel could say or do.

“Maybe. But, hey, it’s really not a problem. I’m not gonna lie to you. It’s strange, but what we do is,” he paused, searching for public-safe words, “a whole lot crazier than that. I told him I was fine, and I meant it. It just might take a little getting used to.”

“You sure?” he appeared around the corner, dressed in a black suit and holding a few colored ties.

“The blue one matches your eyes,” said the woman, pointing.

He turned to her and nodded, putting it on and looking at himself in a set of mirrors.

“Yeah, of course I’m sure. You can’t know Dean and see how much of himself he gives away to other people, and not just want him to be happy—selfishly happy. Most of the time, I really don’t care what that looks like, just that he gets it.” He looked the angel up and down. “It needs something extra, doesn’t it?”

Cas tugged on the black jacket and frowned. “Yeah, it’s a little boring.”

Sam looked around the store for a few seconds. His eyes walked over vests and hats—and settled on a series of outer coats. “How bout this?” he took a few paces forward and pulled a tan trenchcoat off of a hanger. Holding it up. “I bet it kinda flows when you walk. Looks like it might be comfortable for you, you know?”

Castiel caught his meaning immediately. Flow—as in like an ethereal being capable of flight. “That could work.”

Handing it over, Sam took a step back. Cas tried it on, and it fit well. Sam gave him a thumbs up. “Looks good.”

They got him some nice black shoes to go with the ensemble. He changed back into his new street clothes—a dull red t-shirt with dark grey screen-printing across the front, a blue collared shirt to go over top of it, dark jeans, and the brown sneakers he had on the night they met. Sam bought the new items with a different card than the one from before, and they left quickly.

***

The next day was Dean’s turn—though he would have sold half of what he owned not to do it. He had zero interest in being alone with Castiel, who as far as he was concerned seemed equal parts horrifying monster and inconvenient possible love interest. They’d gotten way too up close and personal, both since meeting and before, and he didn’t trust himself around him anymore than he trusted him.

But Sam insisted that he needed time to himself to look into the lore behind warding off angels—of which Dean suspected there was absolutely none at all. His protests fell on deaf ears, however, and he reluctantly took Cas to a makeshift shooting range.

“Are you absolutely certain this is necessary?” The old revolver dropped back down to Cas’s side for the third time in their brief conversation. “I’m not as strong as I was, but I’ll still be able to fight most things when I’m fully healed.”

“We go up against new creatures every other week,” Dean didn’t try to hide his annoyance.  “You need to know how to use a damn gun. It’s not rocket science.”

Cas sighed and brought the gun back up into the air. It felt heavy in his arms, and he felt weak holding it. He’d personally brought mountains to rubble and conquered incredible foes—but the weight of this small piece of metal made the muscles in his arms tired. Still, if Dean required him to learn the mechanics of this weapon, and if he thought that was the best way for Cas to be useful, then he would learn it. He didn’t really have any other course of action.

He pointed the gun at one of the beer cans and made to pull the trigger—

But Dean stopped him. “Whoa, hold on, now. Damnit, not like that.” He took hold of the weapon with one hand and pushed up on one of Cas’s elbows with the other. “You handle it like that without your arms straight, and you’ll hit yourself in the face when it recoils,” he chastised. “You’ve never watched any cop movies, have you?”

“Well, yeah, of course I have,” Cas sounded almost offended. “ _Die Hard_ , _Lethal Weapon_ …”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Okay then. Good. Do you remember how Bruce Willis holds his gun—in pretty much every movie he’s ever made?”

Cas smirked at little, but he nodded, looking at the ground. “It really is the same character over and over.”

“It’s a good character, though,” Dean pointed out. “But, hey, focus!”

“Sorry,” he couldn’t help but smile. Watching those movies, especially with friends or with his sister—those were good memories from his time as a human. Extending his arms, he locked them in place, gripped the gun tightly, and fired. And missed. He squinted at the uninjured can in frustration. “What did I do wrong?”

“Dude, it’s gonna take practice. Nobody gets it on the first go.” He inched closer to Cas to get a better perspective. “Try not to tilt your head so much this time, and keep both eyes open.”

He tried again, adjusting to Dean’s specifications. He squeezed the trigger slowly. The cans were lined up on the edge of an old railroad tie, and that was what took the brunt of the abuse. Some of the cans fell off, but he hadn’t hit them.

“Better,” Even though he’d missed, Dean seemed to approve. After a moment of assessing the situation, “I can show you, if you want.”

“Sure,” he offered the gun to him, but the man shook his head.

“No, here. Hold it like you were before.” Dean carefully approached and stopped behind him. Hesitating for a second, he eventually put both of his hands on top of Cas’s and helped him aim. He reminded himself that this wasn’t the first person he’d taught how to fire a pistol in exactly this way. There was no reason it had to be any different. “Don’t breathe when you fire. Move your legs apart a little.” With the side of his head brushing against the angel’s and his chest pressed to his back, Dean lined up the weapon properly, and then unfocused his eyes. “Go ahead.”

Cas took a small breath and held it. He squeezed the trigger again—and it hit one of the cans near the top. He let his muscles relax. Laughing, “We got one!”

Dean let go of him slowly and stepped away. “Think you could do it again? Without my help?”

Castiel moved the gun just a little from where it was before. Imagining it exactly the way it had been with Dean directing him, he fired again—and nicked the side of another can. Looking over at him, “Not quite a kill, I don’t think.”

“It gets easier the closer your target is to you,” his teacher explained. “But, in a real fight, you’re not going to have a lot of time to focus. We should practice more, but this is a good start. Wanna take a break?”

“I want to get it right,” Cas insisted. “I can master it. I’m certain.”

Dean  shrugged, “I’m sure you can, and you will. But, I’m starving. I could really, really go for a burger.”

Cas handed the gun back to him. “Okay,” was his immediate reaction. But, as they headed back toward the Chevy, he stopped. “Actually, no.”

“What?” 

“I don’t believe you. Okay, you might be hungry, but if you are, it’s because you wanted an excuse to get out of this,” he cracked the knuckles in his right hand. “You knew this task would take awhile, maybe even hours, but you’re telling me you—a trained hunter—did not eat anything before we left, and it wasn’t on purpose?” He pursed his lips and locked his eyes on the man. “You’re either reluctant to teach me, or you’re bad at being a soldier.”

Dean had no reply. He turned away and continued on to the car.

But Cas wasn’t finished. “I don’t want—I don’t want to be a burden to you, Dean,” he called after him. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I really am.”

He turned around. His eyes were lit up with the energy Cas could see behind them. Practically shaking, “I lied.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“No,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not that. Look. When you asked me whether I could feel the power—or energy or whatever—you put in me, I lied. I lied through my teeth, Cas. It’s there. It’s been there, like a nagging feeling in my gut that I have all the damn time. I’ve been carrying it around with me like a bad case of heartburn. I know exactly where it’s hanging out,” he pointed to his stomach, “and it—it itches, kinda. But I feel stronger with it, and I feel connected,” he gulped and closed his eyes, as though in pain. Eventually, “to you, Cas.  It feels—better, the closer I get to you. It’s like a fucking magnet. And I’m not joking around.”

He took a moment longer to look at Cas before opening the car door. The angel hurried in front of him and backed up a few steps to shut it. Raising his chin to look at him, “I didn’t want that to happen,” he tried to explain. “I had hoped it would just be gone—just gone.”

Dean’s hand slid off the door latch. “I’m stuck with it, then?”

Castiel nodded. “I know of no way to remove it. I don’t think this has ever been done before. Any of it. Even trying might kill you—I-I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“He exhaled sharply. “But that’s not even the worst part.”

“What is?”

He shook his head and leaned down a little. “How do I know what literally anything I think about you—if any of that is what I actually think? I mean, am I calling the shots, or is it freakin’ divine intervention here?”

“I’m not sure, Dean.” After a moment of thinking, though, Cas at least had a theory. He very carefully brought his hand up to Dean’s chest and rested it there. “If you’re being pulled by your stomach, at least with me,” he explained, “maybe go with your heart and your head. If your gut feeling says to trust me or even like me—then don’t. Not right away. Ask yourself if logically you should, and if emotionally you want to.”

He seemed to ponder the idea, working it through and testing the limits of it. “I don’t think a whole lot of logic goes into trusting someone,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that one’s mostly heart,” he lightly tapped on Dean’s chest with his index finger. The hunter could easily make the argument that he trusted people out of a gut reaction, out of instinct, but heart worked, too.

Dean couldn’t take the closeness anymore. He slipped through the remaining inches between them and pushed Cas up against his car. The force was enough that it even rocked the vehicle back a little. But, while a human may have been frightened or surprised or maybe even aroused given the right temperament, Castiel’s expression stayed set in a strange mix of adoration and curiosity. It was as if he’d expected this from Dean—not that he’d done anything to plan it, but that he thought it was simply inevitable.

It wasn’t until he smiled that Dean saw any hint of the man attached to the creature. But it was there, and when he pulled the hunter even closer, holding onto the car frame for leverage, any reservations he had fell away. They kissed—a proper one this time. Strong and passionate. And perfect. No blood or fear or anything grim, and no one else around. The experience was just their own.

For Cas, it was a confirmation that keeping a physical form, with all its needs and annoyances and pain, had at least one upside. The sacrifice he’d made to keep it—he hadn’t even considered that it would pay off like this, that he could feel this overwhelmingly amazing. The similar experiences of his time before were just out-of-place memories bobbing around in an ocean of what he was. But this was real. Physical. Wonderful. And he could hold onto it with everything that was left of him.

And he did. He held onto Dean like he might slide into the ground. He felt like he could. But pinned as he was between the cherished machine and its owner, he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Dean didn’t want him to, either. He pressed into him, felt him at every possible place they touched and brushed against each other. It drove him wild. Cas leaned back as far as the vehicle would let him and pushed his own legs apart. In turn, Dean drew in even closer. He lifted up the angel’s shirt and slid one hand inside while Cas worked his way up to Dean’s cheek.

The hunter let out a low moan as he exhaled. Castiel laughed. “That was a lot easier this time.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well, actual touching helps,” he breathed, kissing him again. Cas pulled back enough to get at Dean’s neck and work down into his collar. He took hold of his belt buckle and undid it. The button and zipper followed. Dean couldn’t think—he couldn’t process any of it. In a few minutes, an angel—a male angel—or what was left of one, would most certainly have his clothes off, and he was primed and ready to let him! He couldn’t believe what he was doing. It was one thing to pretend and fantasize, but actually getting it on with a guy?

But he escalated it all the same.

When Cas let go of his jeans, Dean jerked forward once, an act that elicited a small laugh. “I like that,” Cas spoke into his ear, lingering there with his lips just barely touching him. Dean slid one hand between Cas’s legs and moved it upward to touch him. Even with a few thin layers of cloth between, he could feel everything.

“Yeah, I can tell,” he looked down at him. With his other hand, he reached over and opened the car’s back door. It creaked. He ran his fingers over the cold metal. “What else? You already know pretty much everything there is to know about me in that department, but I don’t have even have the slightest idea—”

He smiled brilliantly and grabbed Dean for another kiss. His tongue reached only a short distance into his mouth before leaving again, but he found the simplicity of it fantastic, nonetheless. It didn’t matter how many times he repeated the  action. He just wanted it again and again. The angel finished with a soft bite to his lower lip and hung there for just a second long enough to make him feel weak in the knees.

Cas pulled Dean’s jacket off and threw it on the hood. He made quick work of the buttons on Dean’s outer shirt, and it soon joined the coat. He wore only one t-shirt of his own, and he peeled it off as a show of good faith. The hunter inched back a little to look him over. There was a slight chill in the morning air, but Cas looked at home wearing only khaki cargo pants, which lay devastatingly low on his waist. Dean’s chest rose and fell dramatically as he breathed. Yet Cas hardly moved at all. He had the kind of serenity and stillness a normal human really couldn’t pull off—but the fact did nothing to take away from how absolutely stunning he looked. And it didn’t put a dent in Dean’s excitement.

“You’d be surprised,” he said finally. “We’re very much alike, I think. I enjoy most of the same things you do. And a lot more, probably.” He eyed Dean seductively, walking over to the open door and taking a seat without swinging his legs inside. He motioned for him to join him.

Dean obliged. “So, you don’t always—I just—it’s all about the money, I guess.”

Castiel shook his head but smiled sweetly. “That wasn’t about me, Dean. You’re supposed to have what you want, and I really, really enjoyed giving it to you. But in my downtime? I could just as easily be you in our exchanges.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean tried to close the distance between them, but Cas retreated into the car’s backseat. Dean followed, climbing on top of him and taking his own shirt off. It landed in the dirt somewhere behind him. His boots made a similar departure.

The ever-present necklace he wore remained. He never took it off. Not to shower, not for sex, not even for jobs. If it didn’t match their fake identities, he simply tucked it inside his shirt. But he wouldn’t risk losing it for anything. It was a childhood gift from Sam—in a time when gifts and compassion were scarce. It was a part of him.

Cas reached up and carefully touched the scarred handprints on Dean’s arms. “But truth is, the things I said, I would love to do with you—any time you want.” He kissed him again and looped his fingers into Dean’s pants. He pulled them, along with his boxers, down to his knees. With a little flexibility, Dean got them the rest of the way off. He fumbled with Cas’s final piece of clothing, but it didn’t take very long. Sneakers and khakis landed unceremoniously on the ground with the rest of the hunter’s attire.

“But what do you want, right now?” he asked slowly. With nothing between him and the angel, his skin felt electric.

Cas let his nose touch the side of Dean’s, and he could feel him breathe. “You already know what it’s like to have a part of me inside you,” he paused, hoping he hadn’t overstepped himself. But Dean didn’t even flinch. Producing a slight grin, “I would really like to know what you feel like.”

“Oh, man,” he could barely respond. “That’s—that’s so hot.” He couldn’t think of a more eloquent way to put it. “Okay, Cas. Yeah.” He fished around in the pocket behind the passenger seat, but to his horror, came up empty. “Fuck. I left them in the room.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh—condoms.”

Castiel laughed. “You don’t need those.”

“No, I do—”

He kissed him reassuringly. “You can’t hurt me, Dean, and I wouldn’t hurt you. This body has no diseases of any kind. I made sure of it. And, whether you do or not, it doesn’t matter.”

Dean gulped, and reached back in to find a small bottle, the contents of which was designed to reduce the friction they would inevitably encounter. But it was almost empty. There might just be enough, he thought, holding it up to the light.

Cas laughed again. “You can’t hurt me,” he repeated. Then, for good measure, “Though, I’d love to see you try. Give it your best shot.” He stared up at him. “Don’t hold back.”

Raising both eyebrows, Dean’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Kinky.” Then, after a minute to process, “Flip over,” he directed.

He had to get up and out of the car for Cas to do so, but when he did, Dean rejoined him right away. He took a moment to properly position himself and apply what little of the liquid remained before brushing against the inner parts of Cas’s thighs. He silently told himself to quit hesitating and pushed himself inside.

The angel inhaled quickly. He let out a long moan. Dean had thought for sure he would have hurt him, despite his contention otherwise, and even though he’d reduced the roughness so it was comfortable enough on his side of things. But the angel showed no sign of that. In fact, he looked to be having as good a time as Dean.

And, oh, the hunter was. He pulled away a little and pushed again, deeper this time. Another moan. He was so tight, and he felt so incredibly warm. Out again, and in. Out. In. Out. If he wanted to see how strong the hunter could be, Dean wanted to show him. He gripped Castiel by his waist and shoved.

Cas’s mouth opened wide, and he couldn’t for the life of him shut it again. “Oh God,” he breathed in pleasure. “Oh fuck.” He labored to speak at all.

Dean upped the ante. On the next thrust, he leaned down to Cas’s ear. “Bet I can last longer than you can.” When Castiel looked up at him, lips ajar and cheeks blushing, Dean winked.

Cas smiled off to one side. “I might try to lose.”

“That’s no fun!” Dean teased. He reached down and touched him. Keeping up his rhythm, he found he wasn’t half bad at multitasking. But as much as Castiel certainly seemed to enjoy it, he knew he was incredibly close. It took all the willpower he had to go just a little longer. He wanted to keep this up forever.

Before long, he couldn’t hold on a second more. Heat flooded out of him as he climaxed, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy. Moments later, Cas met a similar fate. “Dean, I—ahh, fuck,” he nearly hyperventilated. It was the closest in timeframe that Dean’d ever had a sexual partner orgasm to his own. So close, it was unreal. But if Cas had control over every other aspect of his body, Dean reasoned, then maybe it wasn’t so strange that he could bring himself there at the right moment.

Separating from him, Cas got up and switched to a lounging position. He looked completely bested as he motioned for Dean to move in close again. And he did, crawling across the seat. “You’re unbelievable,” he said once the hunter was near. “Let’s do that again.”

Dean laughed, “Right now?”

Cas shook his head. He could tell Dean was exhausted—likely unable to perform again for awhile—and he didn’t want to test his luck on the durability of his own body, either. Not with so much mending left to accomplish. “No,” he kissed him again. “But soon!”

Smiling, Dean slumped onto Cas’s chest. “Just gimme five minutes to recover.” After a pause, “Maybe five hours.”


	5. Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the whole story at: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

They took their time getting on their way. Though some basic cleaning up happened immediately, it was a full hour before any articles of clothing were back on. Castiel watched as Dean worked himself back into his jeans. His muscles flexed and relaxed as he did it, and though the cloth obstructed his view in the end, he couldn’t help but enjoy the show.

He was pondering whether he should also exit the car to get dressed when their time together was interrupted.

A figure appeared to Dean’s right. On the outside, it was a woman—mid-to-late twenties, more than a foot shorter than the man, long dark hair tied neatly back. She wore a black, pinstriped women’s suit jacket with a thin scarf and tight black jeans. She stood on three-inch heels, and there were glints of silver jewelry on her fingers and ears.

Cas has no trouble seeing past it to the creature beneath.

Her skin looked pale, as though the vessel may have been sick or even dying when she consented. It wasn’t uncommon for an angel to use that kind of weakness to gain permission, to tell them that they would be healed if they just cooperated. In the end, they would be, but it could easily mean hundreds of years, if not longer, unable to move or control their own bodies, often in pain if conscious, and never able to return to their lives. It was cruel to play off of their fears of death like that, especially when Heaven surely awaited them. It was something a demon would do, but Cas thought angels were supposed to be better than that.

She looked the two of them over with utter amusement painted on her face. When she spoke, it was in Mandarin, and he guessed that the vessel was probably from Shanghai by the dialect. “ _What have you gotten yourself into?_ ” she laughed. “ _Gay sex in a field with a hunter! I would tell the boys, but I don’t think they would believe me!_ ”

Dean jumped. He staggered away from her and dove for the trunk of the vehicle. Opening it, he reached for a shotgun and pointed it at her.

“English, Balthazar,” Castiel growled. Dean mouthed the name, thought for a moment, and then remembered that it was the same angel that had taken over Cas’s niece.

“Oh, because your pet does not understand,” she still very much had an accent. Bal could’ve overridden that effortlessly if he wanted to, but it was easier to let the vessel speak more naturally and simply feed the ideas of what he wanted to say. “He should learn. Soon Chinese will be more popular than English.”

“What the hell do you want?” Dean asked angrily.

Cas slid into his pants as quickly as he could without looking fearful. “She’s here to kill me.”

The vessel shook her head. “You short-sell me, old friend. I am offended.”

Castiel climbed out of the Impala. Picking up his shirt, he put it on. “You’re—you’re rebelling? I don’t believe it.”

She shushed him. “Go on and tell the whole universe.” Pacing back and forth, “Let us just say I am on the down-low. Surely you are familiar with the term.”

Dean slowly moved the gun so that the barrel pointed to the ground, but he didn’t let go of it.

“Well, that would explain the vessel,” Cas squinted at her through bright daylight. “Your usual is a British guy, right? Blond, kind of looks like an aging porn star?”

She laughed. “They are watching him as we speak. I cannot go there. I cannot even go to Europe.” Bal seemed to brood over the situation for a moment. Then, “You have no idea the mess you have made, Castiel.”

“How many are they sending?”

“A few, but it is not just that. Oh, you fucked up this time. While you have been down here slumming it up, the idea of rebellion has entered the minds of many.”

“What?”

She laughed again, but it was to mock him. “Angels simply do not rebel, Cas. To most, they would never even consider it. But you did, and since so many once looked to you for guidance, they now look to themselves.”

Dean walked over to Cas. Blinking, “So, you’re saying there’s a bunch of rogue angels running around?”

“And even more trying to track them down. Most have been caught quite quickly, but there have been many deaths, and it worsens every day you elude capture.” She reached into her jacket and produced a metallic sword about the length of Dean’s forearm. Cas took a step back, and the hunter instinctively raised the gun again. “Relax,” she ordered. “I am unconvinced rebellion is necessarily a bad thing. But I cannot believe what you did to yourself in order to accomplish it! What happened to you, Cas? You have mutilated yourself.”

“It had to be done.”

“You are weak and pathetic,” she chastised. “Can you even fly any longer? The only value I see in it is that you are more difficult to find. I have been searching for a week and only now have I found you. But,” she held up the weapon, “they will be here in a matter of minutes.”

“What?!” Dean looked around frantically. They were sitting ducks in that field, and he had no idea how to kill an angel, let alone multiple ones.

But Bal flipped the sword on-end and offered it to Castiel. “I will not become a target fighting for you, but a soldier should not be executed like a dog. You have earned that much. I hope you have enough strength for this, Cas. Maybe you can survive for a little while. In the meantime, you can rest assured that you may very well have started a civil war.”

When Cas took the weapon, Bal and the vessel abruptly disappeared. Dean joined him at his side. “They really don’t expect you to ever think for yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

Cas gripped the sword anxiously and stepped into his sneakers. “You need to go, Dean. Right now.” His voice was deeper, rougher.

Shaking his head, Dean rested his hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Not a chance.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Only one type of weapon can kill an angel in a vessel, and I’m holding our only one. You have to go now. Please, Dean,” he begged. “They’ll kill you and think nothing of it.”

“I’m not leaving. Sorry,” he stood his ground, moving only to quickly put his boots on, followed by the t-shirt.

Cas looked at him with distress. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing him hurt, and if the soldiers coming for him got their way, they would most certainly kill Dean first while Cas watched, just to punish him further.

But they left him no more time to argue. All at once, not one but three vessels stood just a few yards away, armed and ready for battle. “Get back,” he ordered. If he couldn’t get Dean out of harm’s way, at least he could put himself between him and their attackers.

They advanced.

Cas took a few calm steps forward, eyeing them with a soldier’s analysis. They wore hastily collected vessels: one too young to be optimal for battle and one much too old. The oldest standing to the left was the best target, but he hung back. The other two would strike first.

A sudden sprint from Cas would benefit him the best, and maybe he could take one out right away while getting himself nearer to the older one. But that would leave the third free to retaliate. He reset the scene in his head. Wound two, leave the old one free. Block his advance. Block again. Swing around, then cut. Wound the second again. In for the kill—and probably get killed by the third in the process.

He swore under his breath. Maybe he could get lucky.

Castiel crouched low and ran straight for the group. Slashing with the sword, he connected with the leading angel, cutting into the teenage vessel’s abdomen and knocking him to the ground. He changed his mind at the last moment and pounced on him, burying the blade into his chest. One down. The second and strongest one rushed him. He blocked. Sparks flew from where their weapons connected. He kicked out and managed to roll from under him.

Hurrying back, arm outstretched with the sword pointed at the two survivors, Cas felt like a cornered animal. In his condition, he had no means of escape.

The younger vessel tilted his head to one side to crack his neck. Rolling his shoulders, “You’re a lot weaker than advertised, Castiel,” he taunted. “A few years as a human, and you go softer than a cherub bathing in feathers! Weren’t you supposedly a great warrior back in the day? I think those stories must be greatly exaggerated.”

“That’s because he chopped himself up!” the older one added. “So he can hang around and blaspheme with a bunch of pretty boys.”

Cas forced a laugh. They weren’t the only ones who could talk shit. “You think that’s why I’m here?” He laughed again. “That’s cute.”

They paced toward him slowly, and he backed up accordingly, trying to keep the same amount of distance between them and himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean head for a line of trees, several human weapons in hand.

“What is it, then?” the old one asked suspiciously. “You just love the food? Sunsets? Long walks on the beach?” The two of them cackled.

“Oh, just leading a little rebellion.” When they continued to look skeptical, “Why do you think I hesitated in the first place? This has been my plan all along, and it’s working beautifully. Even if you manage to kill me now, which you won’t, there are a hundred angels ready to step up and take my place.”

The young one’s upper lip lifted in anger. “Why would you do something so incredibly stupid as that?” he snarled.

His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a good answer. “Anarchy is sexy,” was the first thing that popped into his head. Blinking at how idiotic that sounded, he quickly added: “and all of our brothers will soon know the beauty of free will, a concept that our Father thought was so important—that when He created a race of creatures He valued more than us, He gave it to them. Now, all angels will know it, too. Let God judge us for seeking it out if He may, but no creature shall stand in our way! We will free the Kingdom of Heaven from tyranny!” He was almost proud of himself for being able to spew that much bullshit on cue. He was no leader now, and he had no idea why he’d hesitated. He didn’t remember doing it.

“You will die!” the angel thundered. “And anyone who stands with you will fall beneath our swords for such ungrateful disobedience!”

“Good to know,” said a voice to Cas’s left. Dean stood—breathing hard from running—with a large rifle pointed at the younger vessels head.

“That’s not going to—” Castiel whispered, but Dean cut him off.

“It’ll slow them down!” He fired, and a direct hit to the angel’s head blew it apart. He turned and emptied a few rounds into the old one as well.

But they were back in perfect form in seconds, with the young one reappearing with a grip on Cas’s throat. He crushed the hand that held his weapon, and it dropped to the dirt. The other one had Dean on the ground in no time, and set about beating him into unconsciousness.

Before he could, though, the bloodied hunter disappeared. Both Cas and his assailant looked at the space where he’d been with utter astonishment. “That’s not possible,” said the old one, pulling up grass angrily.

Cas gripped the young one’s arm and tried to writhe his way free, but the hold was strong. He gasped for air. Turning blue around the lips, he watched the world start to spin as his vision narrowed.

But all of a sudden, Dean was back. A horrified look plastered on his face, he stood up slowly from a crouching position. He clenched his hands into fists and stared down the angels. “Let him go,” he demanded, approaching them slowly.

The angel obliged. Cas fell to the ground, clutching at his throat. He sucked air into his lungs desperately. His chest hurt, and he felt dizzy. Meanwhile, Dean sidestepped an attempt to grab him. He dove for the sword, tucked it to his chest, and reached for Cas’s arm.

And they were gone. When Castiel regained composure, he found himself sitting in an alley with Dean motionless at his feet. The place didn’t look familiar, and he had no idea if the angels had followed them. Reaching down, he carefully touched the hunter on his cheek. “Dean,” he whispered, shaking him a little. “Dean, wake up.”

After a few moments, he slowly came back, his lips moving with no sound coming out and his brow furrowed. He groaned in pain. “I feel like I got hit by a truck—and it’s parked on my head.”

Cas leaned over him, lightly caressing his temple. He didn’t have much reserves at his disposal, but the least he could do was help fix his headache. As some of the pain eased, he rolled over and wrapped his arm around Cas’s knee. Pressing his face into the angel’s leg.

“I think we’re in Kansas City.”

Castiel looked around. “Did you bring us here, Dean?” he asked very carefully.

He groaned again, “I think so.” After a long pause, he tried to sit up, but fell back into Cas’s lap. “This is all your fault.”

“I think it might be,” he confirmed. “I no longer have the ability, umm, to fly. I gave it up to stay in this body. You must have it—it’s in you, Dean—but you shouldn’t be able to do anything with it. It’s just crude and shapeless energy without an angel’s command.” Only under direction did the power actually become something. Dean couldn’t do that, could he?

“What did I do, exactly?” he kept his head down. “All I know is that one minute I was getting my ass kicked, and then the next I was in the forest a hundred yards from the fight. And then with a thought I was back—and now we’re here. It was the first place far away that popped into my head.”

Cas wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed it himself. “You flew.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m not kidding, Dean,” he said plainly, putting his hand on the hunter’s head and smoothing down his hair. “Did you hear anything before and after moving?”

He turned to look up at him briefly before burying his head again. “Yeah, it sounded like sheets on a clothesline.”

Cas gulped. “Or wing beats?”

“Oh fucking hell, Cas,” came his muffled response. He rolled off of him and onto the asphalt. Gravel from the alleyway dug into his back. He gritted his teeth. “Did I get the halo, too? Or just the wings? Here I thought I Nightcrawlered that shit.”

The angel half rolled his eyes. “Halos aren’t real. They’re supposed to represent our energy being in the vessel. Some people with special attributes can see it, like I can see yours.”

“So, that’s a yes, then.” He coughed.

“I guess, technically.”

“You made me into some sort of freak half-breed.” When Cas didn’t respond, he opened one eye to look at him. His headache returned with a vengeance, but he kept the eye open. Cas’s expression was filled with anguish, and he seemed like he might even cry. Dean silently cursed himself. Cas was in the same boat, only in reverse, and worse yet for him, he’d lost most of what made him strong and gained very little in return. Nevermind that he felt incredibly guilty at putting any of it on Dean. The hunter rubbed his forehead. “Shit, I’m sorry, Cas,” he said eventually.

He stroked the hunter’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Dean seized his hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I really have your wings?” he asked quietly, keeping a hold on him.

Cas nodded. “Yeah, it would seem like it.”

Kissing his hand again, “If you can give them to me, and they still work—even though I’m not even an angel—last time I checked—then maybe there’s a way to give them back to you. Somehow.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes.

Dean found the strength to sit up. He put his arm around Cas and pressed his nose into the angel’s hair. Even after battle, sex, and interstate flying, he smelled wonderful. “If we can’t, then I’ll just—I’ll do my best to make it feel like the trade was worth it.”

“You should call Sam,” Cas dodged. “I don’t think they’ll target him, but I can’t know for sure.”

The hunter reached into his pocket for his phone, dialed the number without looking, and brought it up to his ear. He didn’t budge from his position.

It rang twice. “Hey, Dean. How’s gun practice going?” came Sam’s familiar voice on the other line.

“Hey, uh—so, we got jumped by some angels a few minutes ago.”

“What? Are you serious?! Dean, are you okay? Did they get Cas?”

“No, he’s okay. We’re okay. It’s just—long story short, we’re in Kansas City right now.”

“Wait. That’s—a couple of states away.”

“Yeah, we pulled some angel hoodoo and got our asses out of there.” He paused, covered the mic, and kissed Cas by his ear. “Anyway, can you pick up my car in a few hours and meet us here? It’s in a field on the outskirts, two towns to the east. I think the keys are—on the floor in the back.” He blushed.

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Any word on how to kill the fuckers?”

“We got a little help on that. I’ll explain when you’re here. See you then.”

“Uh, okay, Dean. See ya.”

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and kissed Cas again. “Think we could find a place to eat?” he asked in a low voice, holding him close.

The angel stood and helped him to his feet. “Yeah,” was all he said.

***

Sam found the scene easily enough. Downwind from the Impala was a dead body baking in the afternoon sun. Safe to say, the smell was a little more than unpleasant. He did a double take at a dark outline near the body, however. It looked suspiciously like bird’s wings, singed into the ground.  So that was what a dead angel looked like.

He walked back up to the vehicle and assessed it. No damage as far as he could tell. The back door was open, and he found the keys in no time. Dean’s jacket and a shirt lay on the hood. He grabbed them quickly and threw them in the back. Getting in and starting it, he hooked in his iPod through the cassette player. It would be nice to listen to his own music for the ride to Missouri.


	6. Pride (In the Name of Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the whole story at: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Cas stared thoughtfully at the half-eaten cheeseburger. It wasn’t bad, but he just despised the act of eating so much that he had to stop to keep from gagging. He’d eaten enough to quiet his stomach, at least. In contrast, Dean had already inhaled his and was finishing up his fries.

“What I don’t understand, though, is how I’m actually using them,” he picked up a glass bottle of ketchup, opened it, turned it over, and whacked it a few times on the base. “I mean, I get that you put the stuff in me, but how can I, as a human, move angel wings?”

Castiel wished he would just change the subject, but he didn’t blame Dean for focusing on it. “I don’t know,” he sipped sugary soda through a straw. “I didn’t even think any of it would remain intact, let alone be usable by you or anyone.”

Dean licked his lips and shot Cas a look of sympathy. “Do you think I might be—the same sort of thing, you know, like your niece?”

Shrugging, “If you’re a vessel, then it’s for a different type of angel than I am.”

“It’s not one size fits all?” he scoffed.

“Not at all. Even within types and levels of power, not all vessels that work for some work for everyone. In that case, back when I had the ability, I might be able to sense the vessel, but I wouldn’t be able to enter.” He picked up the burger and took a small bite before setting it back down. “For ones that are way out there—like for hyper-specialized angels or really powerful ones—I can’t sense it at all. That’s on purpose, so that if the vessel is ever needed, no lesser angel will be occupying it or will have damaged it.” He cleared his throat. “So, finding a vessel that works can get kind of tricky. We are limited to certain bloodlines, and we have to get permission.”

“But I didn’t—”

He looked away from him. “Well, when I said I needed your help, and then you said ‘Tell me what to do…’” he did his best impression of Dean’s voice, “that was enough for it to work, I guess.”

Pushing his empty plate out of the way, Dean folded his arms, put them on the table, and rested his chin there. Even after food and a little divine healing, his head was still throbbing. “But I didn’t know what I was helping with, or how,” he protested weakly.

“I know. You deserved to—but you consented, anyway, and I didn’t have much time.” He moved his plate, too. “I’m really sorry it went that way, Dean.”

“Because I shouldn’t have a few gallons of angel juice in me or because you feel like shit without it?”

Cas mimicked the hunter’s posture, bringing his head down to the table so that they could look at each other at the same height. “Something really, really beautiful about humans is that they get to make choices for themselves,” he explained slowly. “I wanted to hold onto that—and in the process, I took it away from you. I hurt you. I gave you a responsibility that you didn’t know enough about to really allow. For all I know, the angels may be able to track you as they have me because of this. If something happened—”

Dean pushed away from the table and slouched back in his chair, keeping his green eyes locked on Cas’s. “If something happened, what?”

The angel frowned. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

Finishing his beer, he looked like he might try and argue—but his expression softened. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he assured him. “You should worry more about yourself. As far as I can tell, whether I like it or not, I’ve leveled up here, and you got a downgrade.”

But the change of tone did very little to ease Cas’s guilt. “I mean it, Dean.”

“I know,” he said simply. Lifting Cas’s head by his chin, he leaned in for a kiss. They were in a public place, and the hunter had to resist the compulsion to look around and see if anyone was watching them, but he did resist it. The people there had no idea who—and what—they were, he reminded himself. They couldn’t possibly know. So, if any one of them happened to notice, and furthermore happened to have an opinion, it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter, he thought repeatedly.

After a short time, he reluctantly let go. “I don’t like it—but there’s a chance it might end up being something we can use, if I can get the hang of it without passing out.”

“It could be very dangerous for you,” he warned, running his fingertips down Dean’s chest.  “But maybe, with practice…”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got a lot of things to practice, now.”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

***

It wasn’t long before Sam found them, waiting in a city park. Dean got up immediately, and the angel followed slowly behind. He quickly removed his music player to avoid getting chewed out over it—as though playing anything but classic rock would actually damage his brother’s car—and tossed him the keys.

Dean got in and started it without a word. Sam blinked. “You all right?” he asked over his shoulder. When he simply nodded, Sam turned to Cas. “What’s the deal?”

He hesitated long enough for Sam to get very suspicious. “Long day,” was his response.

“Okay, I just packed up all your shit and drove across two states to get here. Least you could do is tell me what’s going on.”

The angel glanced over at Dean and sheepishly got in the back of the car. The older Winchester gripped the steering wheel. “We’ve got ourselves into some shit with these angels, Sammy,” he gulped. “It’s gonna be big. Like, army of angry divine soldiers big.”

Sam adjusted the collar of his shirt. Walking around the front, he got in on the passenger side. “But we’ve got a way to kill them now, right?”

Cas lifted a silvery spear-like weapon and showed it to Sam. “This sword will kill any angel residing in a human body, so long as the wound would be fatal to the vessel.”

“What else?” Sam said immediately.

“That’s all we’ve got.”

The younger hunter sighed. “What else aren’t you telling me? C’mon, Dean. I know you.”

He put his head down on the wheel as though he had a headache. “You tell him.”

Cas cleared his throat, “The part of me I gave up is the part that allows an angel to fly.”

“So?” Sam took a moment to process it, but it didn’t take long to put two and two together. “Wait, what?! If you don’t have that ability anymore, then how did you get to Kansas City?” They didn’t say anything. “No. You can’t be serious.”

Dean groaned in response.

“You can fly?!” he accused.

Cas put his arms up on the back of Dean’s seat, “It doesn’t work like you think. We move much faster than anything from the human world, and we use an empty dimension to cross large distances. Dean has somehow managed to use the ability over relatively small distances, I assume staying in this world the entire time. He doesn’t experience it like I would, and has no perception of the actual journey.”

“It just happened,” Dean added. “We were in the fight, and then I wasn’t. And then we got the hell out of dodge. And my head is killing me.”

The angel grimaced. He’d already taken the pain away twice, but it kept coming back. By the intensity, he might have it for days. Cas extended his arm and touched the back of Dean’s head. The muscles in his neck relaxed a little. He breathed out slowly. Shifting the car into gear, it rolled away from the park.

Sam’s face remained vacant as he tried to assess the situation. He ran through the pros and cons—tried to imagine what it could mean, especially if it wasn’t temporary. He asked himself if his brother could do anything else new and if this ability might hurt him in the long run. Worry and anxiousness welled up in his gut. But, part of it was a relief, too. Even though Dean thought the world of him, in his own way, the foreign blood of a dead demon was still in Sam’s veins, and that discrepancy separated them. Sam had a hunch that it also scared Dean a little—having his kid brother not be one hundred percent Grade A human.

But Dean was even less so, now. He had a whole lot more angel lodged inside of him. Though not necessarily relevant, he’d also ingested exponentially more blood than Sam had, and done so a bit more willingly. Sam shivered. As far as he could tell, apart from their new pal, the angels weren’t much better than demons, either, though certainly different.

So, in a way, they were the same, left to work around the strange and find themselves and their places along with. “We’ll get through it,” he said with a little more confidence than he expected. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“There may be another advantage,” Cas said quietly from behind them. When Sam turned, “They’re not just looking for me, anymore, and we collectively have more power than they may realize or fully understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Other angels. They’re rebelling. They will be looking for others like them, to protect and for protection.  And a leader.”

“Which Cas ran his mouth and said he was,” Dean snarked. “They think he started a revolution on purpose.”

“But that’s not true?” he asked anyway.

“No,” Cas shook his head. “I just wanted to stay here.”

Dean looked back at him and made to say something, but stopped himself and returned his focus on driving. Sam thought the exchange over for a short time before stowing it away for later. Whatever was going on between them, he didn’t have to deal with it right in that moment. And there was so much else to contemplate.

“Do you think word might get to them? I mean, do you think we’re gonna have angels popping by, looking to you for help?”

“Maybe,” Cas pressed himself into the passenger-side corner and looked out the window. “They’ll be disappointed if they do. I can’t help them.”

Sam was taken aback by Cas’s dejected tone. It was like he didn’t have any hope at all. He never thought an angel, of all things, would be pessimistic. “They could help us, though,” Sam insisted.

Dean gave a quick nod of agreement. “One already did—that asshole from the other day.”

“We’d probably be dead if Bal hadn’t helped us, Dean,” Cas insisted. “He took a big risk. They may have already killed him because of it.”

“He,”—She? It?—“also threw me into a fridge and jumped a little girl,” the older hunter retorted. “I don’t think we’re best buds just yet.”

Cas rubbed at his knee. It was hurting a little from the battle, but he didn’t want to waste energy healing it at a faster rate. “I’m just saying that it was valuable to us—and if he offers help again, we should accept it.”

“You go way back?” Sam asked, cutting in.

The angel nodded. “I think so. I don’t remember all of it, but we fought together for a very long time, and we trusted each other.”

“You were friends,” Sam supplied.

“Yes.” After a long pause, “Maybe we can be that again—eventually.”

Sam shrugged. “You never know.”

***

They headed northeast. Castiel explained that the more people—souls—they were around, the more difficult it would be for the angels to pinpoint their location. But, more people also meant more potential vessels. Hopping on I-95, Dean figured they could follow it all the way up the east coast. Easy access to cities if needed, plenty of opportunity to get away from them. They would take their time, though, interacting with as few people as possible, and not working any cases.

Wherever possible, Sam alone scored them a motel room or ran for groceries. Cooped up, Dean felt like he was going stir crazy when they weren’t on the road. On the plus side, however, it did mean he got more one-on-one time with Cas.

And they certainly took advantage of it. After all, Cas knew exactly what turned him on—down to minuet details he’d never told anyone else.  He seemed to legitimately and passionately love employing that knowledge, too. It was the only time he really felt that holding onto his body was a good thing. Dean let himself have the TLC. He didn’t want to think about the screwed up situation, or about their enemies or their safety. He didn’t have to think about anything else when they were together. It was an easy way to get a break from it, if only for a short time.

But they had to be very careful. By now, Sam probably suspected something—he wasn’t an idiot—but he said nothing of it, and Dean would rather go toe-to-toe, unarmed, with any one of the monsters they usually faced than have a sit-down conversation with him about it. He just wasn’t that comfortable with the idea. Or, more accurately, he wasn’t comfortable with what anyone who knew might think about him.

Except Cas. He didn’t worry about what Cas thought at all. He didn’t have to. If the angel had something to say, he would just tell Dean outright. Castiel was thousands upon thousands of years old. He didn’t hold things back just to protect someone’s feelings—something Dean really liked that about him. At the same time, he did seem to always have good intent behind the things he said and did. He may not have been human, technically, but he had pretty much everything that makes a person one.

Dean buried his face in the pillow again. The muffled sounds that met Cas’s ears would have been screams of pleasure if he’d allowed it—and if the motel’s walls weren’t quite so thin. Cas was taking his time. He moved deliberately, ensuring he hit the perfect spot with every slow push. He barely touched him otherwise. The goal of this particular encounter was to see how easily he could get Dean off with just some well-placed thrusting.

And, it worked wonders. He had him literally screaming in almost no time at all, and a few minutes later, he couldn’t help but finish.

Cas backed away and reached for a towel. The hunter lay there motionless for a few moments—completely spent. It had been effortless for him. It should be a crime, he thought, how easy that was. “How did you do that?” he asked eventually.

He sauntered over and looked down at him with a smile. “Skill, mostly,” he laughed.

Dean couldn’t help but notice that he was only a few inches from Cas. He thought it time for a little retaliation. Moving as little as possible, he grabbed him by the waist and pulled him close enough to taste.

He slid past his lips. Dean glanced up at him with a devious look and got to work.

Moaning, Cas guided his fingers t to the back of Dean’s head. His hold was a tenuous one—too tenuous. Dean gripped the angel’s hand and pressed it into his hair. He drove forward accordingly. Cas tilted his own head back. Smiling wide, his whole body giving in to enjoyment—

A familiar car door slammed, just outside the ground-level room.  Dean pushed him away—forcefully, but not violently. He slid off the hunter’s tongue, stumbled back a few paces, and bumped into the other bed. He stared at Dean questioningly. The man’s eyes were wide. “Clothes!” he ordered, wiping at his mouth and searching desperately for his pants.

He opened his mouth to ask, but then he heard someone at the door. “Your brother,” he surmised.  With Cas still completely nude and Sam’s entrance imminent, Dean looked like he might faint. Castiel tilted his head to one side and raised his arm. Clenching his fist and tapping into a little of the energy he still possessed, he worked the components of the lock back in place, just as the key would have opened it. There was a slight thud as Sam found he couldn’t open the door.

Cas calmly walked over to the bed and fixed the sheets. He scooped up his clothing with one hand—keeping the other focused on the door—before throwing the items into a pile in the corner. Instead of dressing, he opted for a fresh towel, which he wrapped around his waist. Dean wasted no time. He threw on a shirt as quickly as possible, did a once-over of the room to make sure nothing would give them away, turned on the TV, and sat down, pretending to watch.

Sam knocked on the door. “Dean? Cas? Something’s wrong with my room key. You in there? Hey!” He knocked again.

Cas paused on his way to the bathroom. “If you told him, we wouldn’t have to sneak around,” he said simply. “He’s been understanding so far.” Dean shot him a look laced with fear. Cas shrugged and went inside, closing the door behind him. He let the lock go at the same time he turned the shower on. Hopping in, he set about lathering up his hair.

Dean closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

Sam fell into the room awkwardly, having braced himself against the door in an attempt to shove it open. Dean opened his eyes, stretching. “Something wrong?” he asked sleepily.

His brother looked at the door suspiciously. Turning to him, “The lock was jammed or something. Key wouldn’t work and neither would my kit.”

“Gotta love shitty motels,” was his nervous response. This was the closest call yet. If Cas hadn’t been able to block him out—he didn’t know how he would have lived it down. And, he got the impression that the angel was a little annoyed. He couldn’t really blame him. If Dean was getting a halfway decent blowjob, he wouldn’t want it rudely interrupted, either.

Sam sighed. “Well, at least they had all the stuff in one store this time. I thought for sure I’d end up going to three different places. It’s nice not to be in the middle of nowhere for a change.”

The water shut off in the next room, and Dean could hear Cas moving around. Moments later, he reappeared, soaking wet and wearing only a small white towel that hung low. Dean had to use every scrap of willpower he possessed not to eye him up in front of his brother. Cas smiled widely at both of them. Rifling through his clean clothing, he picked up a few items, flung them over his shoulder, and walked slowly back to the bathroom. Out of Sam’s view, he winked at Dean.


	7. Free Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Dean kept the dinner conversation to business. The two scoured over road maps, discussing a potential course through Ohio, and whether or not it was worth making a rare excursion into New England.

Cas felt fairly useless in the conversation. He hadn’t traveled all that much as a human, apart from a few vacations to warmer climates, and though he roughly understood U.S. geography, he was anything but an expert. Conversely, the other two separately held a massive expanse of knowledge on traveling without much detection. Together, they were geniuses on the subject.

He opted to watch and listen closely, and to clean up when they were finished eating. And one more thing. He gradually formulated a plan across the better part of an hour. Unsure if it would work or even if he should really do it, Cas put it in motion, anyway. He had so very little control over his own life at this point. If he could influence nothing else, it would be this.

With the two engrossed in their strategizing—hunched over the papers, practically shoulder to shoulder—Castiel threw out the trash, picked up his cell phone, and tucked it just out of view under a newspaper on the nightstand. He set it to silent. Then, he waited. He watched TV and listened to their voices. Dean’s deeper tones riddled with years of rough living and hardship played off of Sam’s lighter, more delicate speech. There was just barely a hint of innocence and optimism left there in the younger brother. It hid behind his words and expressions, and it lived in his eyes. He’d managed to hold onto it despite the pain of his short life.

Cas guessed Dean’s protectiveness and looking out for him had something to do with it, but the angel also imagined Sam had done it for himself, too. He was stronger and more capable of independence than Dean realized. Though he couldn’t be sure, he surmised that Sam still held onto that virtuousness—that empathy, that faith in humans and in their basic goodness—even just a little, because he actually wanted to. He wanted that to be part of his character, so he kept it close to himself amongst the violence and chaos.

When it seemed they’d worked out a plan for the next couple of weeks, with a few alternate ones in case something went awry, Castiel stood up. “Are we far enough from the city for shooting practice?” he asked quietly.

Sam shrugged. “If not, it can’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Sure, I can take you,” Dean said very carefully, forcing a little too much nonchalance. “Think you can handle something a step up from the revolver this time?”

Cas scoffed. “It’ll be fine.” He slid into a dark blue, zip-up sweatshirt. Then, he began looking around the room. Searching. He patted the beds, riffled though the semblance of his belongings, and ducked into the bathroom. “Where is it?” he muttered. “Shit.”

“Something wrong, Cas?” Sam called after him. Out of sight, the angel allowed himself to grin.

He peeked through the doorway and shook his head. “Nothing, I—I wanted to bring my phone.”

“You won’t need it,” Dean supplied. “It’s not like you can answer them, anyway.”

“I don’t care. They keep texting. It’s been two weeks, and they’re still texting. I—like having it with me.” He wasn’t lying about that. He did read them all, and he kept it charged so he could do so. But, as the days went by, he checked it less and less. It became more of a routine than a compulsion. He checked in the morning and before bed, and if he had it on him when it went off, he would read the messages then, too.

Sam got up, pushing his chair away with the backs of his calves. His eyes searched the room, and then he looked around a little, too. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” he assured him. “Don’t worry. We’ll find it.”

Dean fidgeted in his chair. “We’re gonna run out of daylight soon.”

Shooting his brother a glare of pure annoyance, Sam kept up the search for a few moments longer before sitting down on one of the beds. Sighing, “Sorry, Cas.”

“It’s all right, Sam,” he pretended to force a weak smile. “I’ll get it later.” He headed for the door and slinked out. Dean followed. They walked toward the car, which was parked around the corner. When the hunter went to get in, Cas stopped him with a tug on the collar of his jacket. “Hold on a sec.”

Dean glanced up at him and immediately smiled knowingly. “You don’t really want to go shooting, do you?”

Cas looked down at his feet. “No.” He pulled Dean a few paces away from the street and shoved him up against a brick wall. With one hand on the man’s wrist, he pushed forward, connecting his lips with Dean’s neck and kissing him there vigorously.

“Ahh!” Dean covered his mouth with one hand. “Oh God. Cas! Cas, cut it out.”

The angel abruptly let go, taking a few steps back. “What? You don’t like it?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know I do.”

“Then what’s the problem? You kinda left me hanging.” He slid his hands into his back pockets and chewed on his own lower lip.

“Same reason,” he said simply, but his eyes walked over him. In no time at all, he took hold of Cas, and kissed him back. Moving away a little, “I figured you might have—you know—taken care of things,” he whispered.

Cas shook his head and threw his arms around him. “Not quite the same.”

He kissed him again. They wound up at the wall once more, but this time Cas felt the cold brick against his back. The hunter pressed himself into him, running his hands down Cas’s sides. They stopped at his waistband. After a few more flourishes, which had him nearly breathless, Dean stopped. “We should go somewhere,” he said with lips red from overuse.

Cas smiled. “Sure.”

Dean’s thumb traced the edges of the button on Cas’s jeans. He wanted desperately to jump him right there, but he knew that was an awful idea. Another kiss couldn’t hurt too much, though, he told himself. And maybe one more after that.

But midway through the fifth, to his horror, they heard footsteps. He let go completely and froze. Without looking, he already knew exactly who it was—by the stride and by the slight shuffle. He’d needed to be able to recognize his brother by sound a thousand times before. In a dark cave or abandoned house or wherever, it sometimes meant the difference between ganking the bad thing and fatally wounding the only family he had left.

He clenched his hand into a fist and pressed it—not hit, pressed it—into the wall near Cas’s shoulder. After a long silence, as he tried to find something, anything right to say, “Sammy,” was what he barely managed.  He didn’t look at him until he’d stepped back from the angel several feet. Even then, he couldn’t hold the stare for long.

Sam stood with his eyes wide. He had no coat, and he’d thrown on his shoes without tying them. He’d hoped to catch them before they left. He never imagined he’d find them like this. The cellphone in his hand slipped a little, but he didn’t let it fall.

It took a moment for it all to sink in. “Huh,” he uttered. Smiling as much out of wanting to ease the tension of the situation as from his own nervousness, Sam put up his hands, “Damn.”

“Look—” but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

It was a little more awkwardness than Sam could handle, “Uh—Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he said too quickly. Holding up the phone, he set it on the roof of the Chevy, turned on his heel, and headed back to the room as fast as he could without running.

Cas looked over at the hunter, but found him more upset than he’d anticipated. Without saying anything, Dean walked over to the car and picked up the device, offering it to him. Cas took it and slipped it into his pocket. He got in the vehicle without him, turned it on, and backed out into the street.

“If you leave me here, he’s gonna want to talk to me,” Castiel warned.

“Then talk,” he growled. The engine revved, and he took off.

He hung around in the parking area for quarter of an hour, just pacing around and trying to think of what he might say when he returned to the motel room. He had honestly thought that if Dean could talk to anyone, he could talk to Sam—and he really believed that would happen. It might still, eventually, but it wouldn’t until Dean calmed down and returned.

But maybe he could help a little in the interim.

He walked deliberately slow back to the room and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. Sam didn’t look up from his computer at first, but when Cas said nothing, he couldn’t bear the silence. “The field, right?” he said, making eye contact. “Before the run-in with other angels? That’s when it started? I mean, actually started.”

Cas wasn’t sure how much he should say, but Dean did give him permission, if not angrily. “Yeah,” he replied as calmly as possible.

“He wasn’t nervous around you anymore,” Sam looked back at his computer screen. “Like full-on didn’t want to be in the same room with you—to sitting on the same park bench.” He coughed. “Thought it might be because of the fight, though. But I guess this makes more sense.”

“I wanted to tell you.”

“I believe that,” he said immediately, “considering I think you set this all up.”

Cas’s blue eyes widened tellingly. He reigned in his expression as best he could. “I didn’t think—I mean, I thought—uh—” He sighed. “He was lying to you because of me. You two have a closer relationship than any I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t be responsible for damaging it.” Before Sam could respond, “And I didn’t want to be a secret anymore.”

Sam’s expression softened a little, but his voice remained stern. “This is the part where I go all movie cliché on you and tell you I’ll kill you if you break his heart.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Cas returned right away.

“Like hell I don’t. He’s a lot more fragile than he looks with stuff like that. I’m serious, Cas. If you fuck this up—”

“No, I mean. It’s really never going to happen. I don’t think he even thinks of me deeply enough for that. And, anyway, it’s—it’s pretty much the only reason I live.” He kept his gaze on Sam. He didn’t look away or flinch.

“Wait. Okay, hold on. Back up a second,” he tried to organize the very separate revelations and tackle them one at a time. “First off, no. It might be framed as a purely uh—exercise-based relationship, but let me tell you something. Dean doesn’t do ‘friends with benefits.’ He doesn’t even really have ‘friends.’ He does one night stands with a bunch of different women, and up until now, that’s pretty much it. Whatever you two have, it’s different, and there’s no way in hell no emotions on his part are involved.” He closed the computer in frustration.

“There would have to be something more,” he continued. “It’s too out of the ordinary, too new. Second, he’s bound to have figured out by now that you’ve got an emotional thing for him, but since he clearly hasn’t addressed it with you, that’s also a good reason to think the feeling might be at least somewhat mutual. And third, for fuck’s sake, what? What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I made a mistake in trying to keep this body,” he tried to keep composure. “I hate it. I hate myself for what I did. The only thing I like about it is that it means I get to be with him.”

“Oh God damnit, Cas. So, what you’re saying is—this goes bad, you kill yourself?! Come on, dude, you can’t mean that,” he hunched forward in his seat. “Cas, that’s not okay. Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

Castiel swallowed a lump in his throat, “I’m not doing any good otherwise. I’m just putting you both in danger.”

“We’re always in danger. That’s what we do.”

“Then I’m adding to it.”

He got up abruptly and walked over to him. “Listen. You gambled with something you didn’t think you could lose, but you did. And it sucks, big time. But you gotta understand, offing yourself takes you out of the game completely. You can’t help anyone, including yourself. You can’t do any good—that’s when you’d be useless. And, besides, I think if you manage to get Dean talking, you’ll find he does care about you and would not ever want to see you hurt yourself.” He smoothed down his own shirt anxiously. “We might not be that close, but I really don’t want you to die, either.”

Cas blinked. “He won’t even talk to you.”

“No, he just hasn’t yet,” Sam smiled. “He does this stuff on his own time, Cas, but if you nudge him a little, he’ll open up—eventually.”

“I guess.”

“Why don’t you go for a walk or something? Clear your head. When Dean comes back, you can talk to him.”

He stood still for a moment, but reluctantly agreed and wandered out of the room.

***

Dean stumbled in a few hours later. Sam didn’t move at first, but simply stared up at him from his position behind the laptop. He looked like hell—worse than usual. Unsurprisingly, he’d been drinking, but he seemed a lot more sober than Sam feared.

He got up quickly and went over to him. The older hunter opened his mouth to speak, but Sam didn’t give him a chance. He embraced him. And he didn’t let go for a long time. When he finally loosened his grasp, Dean pulled back to give him a surprised glance. Releasing him, “Shoulda done that before,” he muttered, returning to his chair.

His brother stood in the doorway for a moment longer, trying to wrap his head around the reaction, and how it differed so dramatically from what he thought for sure would happen. “You’re not pissed?” he spoke more in Sam’s general vicinity than to him directly. He thought Sam would at best avoid him or feel awkward or blatantly stop talking about girls or something—and at worst maybe take off—but this wasn’t like that at all.

Sam laughed. “Why would I be pissed?” He stared right at him, smiling in the almost child-like way he reserved just for his brother.  “Maybe you coulda, you know, actually told me—but yeah. There’s nothing to be pissed about, Dean. Seriously.”

He nodded slowly and drifted over to one of the beds. Throwing himself on it, he stared up at the ceiling. He still had no idea what he should say.

But Sam kept going, “You think I wouldn’t want you to be happy? C’mon.”

“It’s kinda weird,” he said in a subdued voice.

“You’re my brother,” Sam gave another one of those smiles. “And not really. We fight ghosts and monsters. I’ve got demon blood in me, and you—you’ve got angel wings! I think that trumps you having the hots for a guy.”

Hearing it out loud twisted his stomach into knots, but try as he did, he couldn’t find fault in anything Sam said. He was just being supportive. Unwaveringly supportive. That, too, was uncomfortable for Dean, who didn’t really want to accept it completely, but maybe it was time for him to man up about it.

“Besides,” he took a sip from a can of iced tea, “I like Cas.”

Dean coughed. “Yeah?”

Another long sip. “Yeah, definitely. A massively powerful, immortal being older than humans spends three decades as one and then decides he’d rather be a mortal? And more than that, is actively trying to fit in with us? That’s not just likeable—it’s adorable.”

Dean blushed, though he didn’t think Sam would be able to tell from that distance. He hoped he couldn’t.

“I get it, in other words,” Sam continued. He worked the can’s tab absently with his thumb and index finger, moving it back and forth until it finally snapped off. Looking it over, he set it down on the table. “And he seems to really like you,” he knew he took a risk with this route but wanted to say it anyway. “Like, I’m pretty sure he’s crazy about you.”

Dean sat up partially, leaning back on his arms. He hesitated. After a moment of internal yelling, in which the words “coward” and “man up” were used multiple times, “What makes you think that?”

“Well, he follows you around, he is—I assume—sleeping with you, he worries about you a lot, and he picked you for giving up his mojo,” Sam explained frankly. “Oh, and he told me.”

“What?!” he reacted without thinking. He clenched his jaw shut right after, but the damage was already done.

Sam grinned slightly. “Why do you think he wanted me to find out?”

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his head. “The lost phone was on purpose,” he said with exasperation. It wasn’t a question. He’d suspected, and he was a good enough hunter to know that very few things that go wrong are accidental. He wanted to follow the statement up with “I’m gonna kill him,” but when he said it in his head, it sounded the polar opposite of menacing.

“Yep, and I cut him down a few pegs over that, by the way.” Sam finished his drink and tossed the can into a small trash bin a few feet away. “But yeah. He’s crushing on you. Big time.” Now Dean was really blushing. He got up and raided the mini-fridge in an attempt to hide it, but Sam noticed anyway.

Still, he had no intention of making this difficult for him. There were a lot of things he could tease his big brother about—being shorter or inept at technology or out of touch with current events—but not this. Not yet, at least, and probably not for a very long time. “Might wanna talk to him about it,” he shrugged for good measure. Stretching, he headed for the exit. “I’m gonna go for a run. Cas should be back soon.”

Pausing, “I’ll knock first.”

***

The angel returned about half an hour later. When he saw Dean, he stopped dead in his tracks. “How’d it go?” he asked meekly.

Dean licked his lips. “He hugged me.”

He tilted his head to one side—then snickered. “Aww!”

The hunter wanted to be angry at that, and at the cellphone ploy, but he couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t even want to confront him about the latter. Cas’d taken the work out of coming clean to his brother. It should have been Dean who told him, but he would be lying to himself if he wasn’t relieved he didn’t have to.

Instead, he got up and made his way over to him. He moved in close, only about an inch or so away at their noses. He looked deep into those round, doe-like eyes of his and then pulled back, studying the slight lines on his face and lips, the stubble, and his expression—a mix of curiosity, contentment, and arousal. He let himself slip through the remaining distance. It was inevitable. He couldn’t be that close to him without wanting to feel him and taste him. Needing, even. It certainly felt like a need as much as a want.

Cas moved to his ear, and it sent shivers down his spine. He reveled in the feeling for a few moments before breaking into it with words. “Hey-uh, Cas?”

“Mmm hmm?”

“Can we talk?”

“Hmm,” the angel pondered the situation, Dean’s earlobe still sitting on his tongue.

“Please?”

He sobered, moving back a little. “Uh, sure, of course.”

Dean put his hand on Cas’s face, cradling the angel’s cheek and letting his thumb rest just to the side of his lips. Completely on edge, he wanted to be anywhere else. But, he told himself that if he could fight demons and come back from near-death situations a hundred times—if he could use the power Cas gave him and get it on with him, too—then he could do this. It didn’t make any sense to do what was needed all the time, to have that kind of courage, and then falter when it came to something so relatively simple.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked bluntly. No need to sugarcoat it or lead into it—it wouldn’t be any easier.

Taken aback, Cas let out an “Oh.” He took hold of Dean’s hand by the wrist and gently pulled it away from his face. Then, “What happens if I say yes?” his eyes were clouded with concern.

Dean could feel his heart pound against the inside of his ribcage. “I don’t know.” But Cas’s face tinged with sadness—which was far from what Dean wanted. Gulping, “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love before, so…”

There we go. Castiel’s eyes lit up. They were followed shortly after by an incredible smile. “Then, yeah,” he managed eventually. “I mean, I can’t even tell you—yes. Yes, absolutely.”

The hunter nodded. “Me too.” He couldn’t help but smile, as well, but it was as much out of nervousness as happiness. Every single word he said had to be right. And talking about this kind of stuff wasn’t exactly his forte. He was horrified he’d screw it all up.

Cas settled into Dean’s arms. His nose drifted up the skin by Dean’s ear. “Then the rest we kind of just work out,” he assured him. “Whatever feels right.”

“That’s pretty much what we’ve already been doing.”

“Yeah, only a little more complicated—but it might be more fun this way.”

Dean craned his head into Cas’s touch. “If you say so.”


	8. Darkness on the Edge of Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

The three of them peered into darkness, waiting for their eyes to adjust. Very little could be seen in the windowless room, and only the barest hints of light filtered in from behind them. It was dusty. The particles of God knows what—by the place’s former use, it could easily be toxic in large doses—filled the insides of their noses and throats, eliciting more than a single sneeze.

Sam fumbled with his flashlight. It didn’t go on right away, but a few taps eventually yielded results. Dean’s came on shortly after. But Cas hung back. He didn’t have one of his own, so he opted instead to hold the loaned weapon—a sawed-off shotgun—close to his chest. The metal and polished wood warmed in his hands.

He didn’t really need a flashlight, anyway. Theirs would be enough to see normally, and if anything else occupied the room with them that had energy of its own, be it a ghost, a human, a monster, or whatever, he should be able to see it with his real sight. Just to make sure, he focused enough to look at the familiar yellowish glow of his companions. 

Their souls, and really all souls, were beautiful to him. It was an automatic reaction. Part of his basic construction. He couldn’t help but enjoy studying the minuet differences and the patterns that made up the two brothers.

Dean’s was brighter now—interwoven with the white hot energy Cas supplied. It shined out at him just enough to be distracting. He couldn’t imagine how his soul and his body managed to contain it, let alone utilize it. It should’ve destroyed him.

“Cas!” Dean half whispered and half called to him. They’d walked a quarter of the way into the cavernous room before the angel moved a muscle.  He hurried to meet them. Unfocusing, he kept just a little of his sight active—only enough to be useful.

This was the ninth building they searched. The industrial complex contained dozens of such edifices scattered across more than two miles of dilapidation and decay. Abandoned since the early eighties, the structures once housed a smelting plant, where heavy metals like zinc and lead and even arsenic were processed. The waste was pumped into the air, fed into the water supply, and buried in the soil. It killed the surrounding natural landscape down to the bacteria and insects, and even decades later, no new vegetation grew on its own. When laws and regulations finally caught up with the place, the corporate fiends behind its operation shut it down rather than suffer the costs of bringing it up to code.

Before that, more than one employee fell to the toxic and dangerous environment, in addition to the toll it most assuredly inflicted on the people of the adjoining rural town.

Now, the dank and decrepit place was getting torn down. A handful of the buildings were already leveled, with much of the old equipment whisked away for the valuable scrap metal. Signs of the new work were everywhere, from neon, spray-painted lines and numbers to cherry pickers and other machinery parked around the area. As far as the three of them were concerned, the place couldn’t go quick enough.

But work was stalled. A series of unexplained deaths on the premises, starting with an electrical engineer and two surveyors and eventually leading to the on-site foreman, led to a massive investigation employing local and state police, the Environmental Protection Agency, and now, three young FBI agents.

Their forged badges and business attire easily fooled the backwoods officials, and the get-ups bought them a few hours alone.

Cas played the part exceptionally well for his first time. Sam had the idea of making him the head of a special environmental unit—thus explaining why there were more than two people—and he ran with it. The angel asked about chemicals and ground water contamination and anything else he could remember from _Erin Brockovich_.The other two stuck to questions on break-ins and possible disgruntled employees. As for names, they persisted in using members of the E Street Band, with Cas becoming “Lucas Federici,” in honor of the deceased pianist. He privately enjoyed hearing his human first name and hoped to use it more on other cases.

Clad in suits and ties, and a trench coat for Cas, along with heavy boots and hard hats, they set about looking for the cause of the deaths. The Winchesters agreed that it was likely a ghost of a worker who died near the end of the place’s operation. Since the two possible candidates were both cremated, there had to be something tying it here.

This particular building was still largely intact. And empty. The three searched anyway, before moving on to the next space.

Their tenth stop looked like a giant tin can. Pieced-together rusted metal made up the majority of the structure. Light came in from holes throughout. It was gutted, too, but something resembling a series of concrete tables remained. At the far end, oily and disgusting water collected in a deep trench. The brothers walked to the edge and shined their flashlights in. There might have been a dead animal or two, but nothing strange stood out.

The eleventh was more promising. A series of offices covered in green and black mold hadn’t yet been touched by the cleanup crew. Matted and wet bunches of old papers were strewn everywhere, and dozens of metal shelving units were filled with everything from old electrical components to tools to Cold War-era office supplies. They split up to go through the rooms. Anything that looked like a personal belonging went into a garbage bag for later disposal.

Dean rummaged around in some desks in the main office, while Sam took a storage area. Cas backtracked and headed toward a locker room. The workers showered at the end of every day in order to avoid bringing the deadly dust home to their families. Some of the lockers were still labeled with their names. While graffiti artists and robbers had already been through the place, much of it remained undisturbed. The angel found a mug on one of the benches, and it still had a black sludge where coffee once awaited consumption.

He went through the lockers one at a time. Most were unlocked already and empty. Two, however, were not only still shut, but bent and wedged from failed past efforts to open them.

Setting Dean’s shotgun down on a bench, Cas reached into his coat and began pulling out anything that might be useful. They’d loaned him all manner of things for the case. There was a lock-picking kit, but he still didn’t quite know how to use it successfully, and anyway, these were combination locks.

He also had a crowbar, which was his best bet, and the old revolver he used for shooting practice—on the rare occasion that they actually trained when they said they were. He wanted to shoot the locks open. Movie heroes did it that way. But, in real life, there could easily be a ricochet. And as a mortal now, he had to be careful.

It was surprisingly easy to pry the first one open. Inside, however, there were no personal belongings to speak of, just some old towels. The second one simply didn’t want to open. He threw his entire body behind it. Paint chipped off and fell at his feet. The tool slipped off, and he lost his balance. Cas fell to his hands and knees, losing his hardhat and the crowbar in the process. When he looked up from his position on the ground, he wasn’t alone.

The figure that stood at the far end of the row of lockers was backlit with dull sunlight, which shined through dirty windows set high near the ceiling. It wore flannel with a hardhat, and it appeared caked with black dirt. There was just darkness where a face should have been. The air grew cold enough for Cas to see his own breath, but it smelled like something was burning.

Embers appeared out of thin air and drifted down toward the floor around him. The hairs on his arms stood at attention.

He reached out for the gun, but the bench jerked upward, and it landed somewhere in the next row over. The shotgun held shells filled with rock salt, which would have worked on a spirit long enough for him to get to the others. His revolver was useless. The iron crowbar, also helpful but equally out of reach, flew away from him when he dove for it. He was unarmed when the thing descended on him.

It gripped him by the throat, pulled him to his feet, and shoved him against the closed locker. Cas squirmed and struck out at the ghost, but it did nothing. He tried to use his power to push it away, but there was nothing to push against. He couldn’t scream. As it choked the life out of him, he kicked frantically at the lockers, trying to make as much noise as possible.

It worked.

Dean burst through the door. He picked up the crowbar and slashed it through the spirit’s torso, dispersing it.

He dropped like a stone. The hunter stopped him from hitting the floor with one arm. With help, Cas managed to stay on his feet. Dean took a moment to carefully look him over. He ran a hand over his chest and dusted him off. “You gonna be okay?” he seemed legitimately concerned. Openly so.

The angel nodded. “I’m really, really glad to see you.”

He gave a crooked smile. “What else is new?”

The ghost returned with a vengeance, heading for Dean this time. But, he didn’t give the thing a chance, cutting through it again. Not waiting for a third encounter, the hunter quickly surveyed the room. His eyes stopped abruptly on the towels Cas had ignored. Picking them up, he searched for only a moment before throwing them on the ground. Out from his pocket he produced a small plastic bottle of lighter fluid and soaked them with it. Salt followed. As he lit a match, the ghost tried to stop him, but Dean was faster. The figure burned brightly before their eyes and then disappeared.

Panting, “One of the workers,” he swallowed, trying to catch his breath, “fell into a pile of burning ash—which was all over these. I think there was some blood, too. They must have used them to try and put out the fire. Why the hell they wouldn’t wash or chuck towels covered in dead guy is beyond me.”

Cas took a seat on one of the benches and wiped sweat from his brow. After a minute, Dean offered his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

They met up with Sam and quickly departed. The official story was that they could find no evidence of foul play and that further involvement from the FBI wouldn’t be necessary.  No one seemed particularly surprised by that conclusion, so they left without incident.

***

“It’s supposed to be weird now, right?” Cas tried to keep a straight face, but he failed miserably and started cracking up. He finished his fourth beer and slapped the glass down. It didn’t take much at all to get him tipsy now, but Dean surprisingly found it more of an endearing trait than a charge against his character. With anyone else, that wouldn’t have been the case, but he couldn’t help it. “But we eat all the time.” Laughing again, “And then we have lots of sex. So nothing’s changed!”

Dean put one finger to his own mouth and shushed him, “Dude! Turn the volume down, will you? We’re gonna get kicked out of this place!” But he wasn’t worried. If they got the boot, they wouldn’t have to pay. They’d practically finished eating, and the hunter was already thinking about finding a nice quiet place to which they could retire. He grinned, “But yeah, it doesn’t seem all that different, does it?”

“Nope,” he snickered.

Smiling wide, Dean motioned for the waitress to bring their check. When she did, he handed her a credit card without looking away from his date. He even tipped well.

They left with Dean’s arm around him—under the pretense that Cas could use a little steadying. Of course, he really would have made any excuse to get that close to him, and there was a certain thrill from the perceived danger of doing it in public.

The car waited a few blocks away. Spots were a commodity in this touristy old town, but the night was only cold enough to get Cas even closer to him. They walked slowly toward the vehicle, in no hurry to get there. The angel slipped his hand into Dean’s back pocket. It was getting easier and easier to do this stuff out in the open, especially if the only witnesses were complete strangers. The more turned on Dean got, or the more he focused on something about Cas that he really liked—like his inability to hold liquor—the faster his fears and reservations went on the backburner.

Cas figured that out fairly quickly. With a little patience, all he had to do was wait and maybe show Dean some attention, which wasn’t exactly difficult, and Dean would come around. So long as he didn’t pressure him.

It was wonderful. Occasions like this one where Dean got to just be happy for awhile were once so rare he sometimes thought they were gone for good.

He kissed Cas near his temple just in time to catch the ire of an elderly couple. Moments later, Cas burst out laughing. Part of Dean hoped one of the bystanders would start something. Then, he could easily prove his fighting prowess, disprove the stereotype of weakness, and show off a little for his date.

But, while the New England town was small, only a few ancients dared to look at them funny—and even then, it wasn’t the kind of anger Dean played out in his head. The world was changing. They may not have been able to walk like this everywhere without confrontation, but here? They were safe. A big part of him was happy for it. Not everything had to be a fight, even if most elements of their lives were.

Like most things, though, their good time was cut short. When they arrived at his car, they found a figure they recognized leaning against one of the doors. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her face betrayed annoyance. Upon seeing them, she sighed loudly.

The muscles in Cas’s shoulders tensed up beneath Dean’s hold on him. He froze, lifting his head. The joy and carelessness of only seconds before disappeared entirely, along with his buzz. He was utterly still, now, and serious. Too serious. Dean would have killed to just hit rewind.

“What is it?” Cas asked in a deeper, scratchier voice than he generally used around the hunter.

With the moment gone, Dean no longer felt right holding onto him, and he let go.

“I see you are as popular here as you are becoming upstairs,” Bal said slowly, motioning toward the sky.

Cas took a step forward. “What does that mean?”

“You are lucky they cannot get a lock on you, Cas,” she pushed off the vehicle and took a few steps toward them. “If they saw their hero like this—what he truly is—well.” She stopped to take a long look at Dean, but he got the impression it wasn’t his pretty face she was interested in. “Well, you would not be their hero, would you?”

“I wasn’t aware I’d become one.”

“Oh, you are a revolutionary, now!” she spat. “The great Castiel, who so believed in his Father and his Father’s precious, perfect,” she wrinkled her nose at the human, “creations, that he rebelled. And now they follow suit—more or less—in your name. You have disciples. Hundreds of them. They are falling out of heaven faster than you two jumped into bed!”

Dean clenched his hand into a fist, but said nothing.

“Half actually think you are dead! Though that may be a positive. You are most helpful to them that way, as a martyr. And you are no leader anymore, and in any case, they do not need one.”

Cas’s face showed no emotion. He didn’t allow any to shine through, not even for Dean’s sake. In fact, he didn’t move at all except to speak. “You’re encouraging this,” he accused.

She winked. “And why would I not? This is perfect!”

“What are you getting out of this?” Dean kept calm.

“Oh! He speaks!” She strutted up to him and patted him on the head. “Good dog. Sorry, I am all out of treats, but I am sure Cas will take care of that later!” She laughed in his face. He smiled slightly, but inside he wanted to kill her. When it was clear she couldn’t provoke a reaction, “The answer is everything.” She turned back to Cas. “Literally everything. Freedom. Absolution from any responsibility whatsoever. They are not even looking for me any longer. They are too busy with the ones who are actively fighting to notice the ones who are planning.”

“Planning what?” Cas did not hide his impatience.

She gave a toothy, cat-like smile. “A coup.”

Castiel didn’t react.

She sighed again. “Anyway, in the meantime, whatever you have been doing to elude detection—keep it up. Stay gone.” Then, she abruptly placed her hand on the other angel’s shoulder. “When I succeed, I will not forget how you have helped, even though you did not want to.” She turned and began walking away.

“You won’t succeed,” he warned.

“Ye of little faith.” And she was gone.

***

They took Balthazar’s advice, sticking to population centers and only working cases when it was convenient. Cas didn’t want anything to do with whatever Bal was cooking up. He hated that he was involved at all. He didn’t want a war. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He simply wanted to be left alone. Well, not quite alone.

He loved just being in Dean’s company. Everything else was a wonderful bonus.

And, he liked Sam, too. They got along better than Dean expected, and could spend hours talking about the things and places Castiel knew. Accordingly, Cas was the closest thing Sam had to a friend apart from his brother, and the angel considered him a valued companion, as well. Sam needed the extra normalcy that came with having a friendship, so he welcomed it.  
  
To make sure they stayed that way, and to cut down on the awkwardness, Dean and Cas kept things mostly platonic around him. They might sit kind of close or touch a little more than friends would, but they drew the line there. On the few occasions where Sam remained awake while the other two slept, they took separate beds.

Sam both appreciated and loathed this treatment. They had every right to show each other affection, he told himself. Even if it was just a little bit more. He could see them holding back, sometimes to an obvious discomfort to themselves, and he hated that he was the cause of it.

But at the same time, something about seeing them together bothered the hell out of him. He would never mention it to them, of course, and he didn’t even really understand it. It wasn’t that he thought they shouldn’t be together, or that it disgusted him, or anything like that. He really was happy for them. For both of them. Dean needed the R and R, and he deserved it. Cas was great, too, and very devoted. Loyalty was like currency for Sam’s brother, and Cas had a seemingly endless supply to give him.

Yet, if he caught them getting close, he felt like every one of his nerves were standing on end. And it wasn’t just that. When they went off together, or even when he volunteered from time to time to run an errand—for the express purpose of giving them more time to themselves—it almost physically pained him. He wanted to do it, to let them just be together. But, every time he did, it sat like a rock in his gut.

He thought at first it might be a return of his premonitions. Maybe something bad was going to happen if Dean and the angel stayed together. Something with the civil war? It didn’t add up, though. Sure, he’d had a few bad feelings to go along with the visions, but not that often and never without actual visions. And all of it vanished when they killed the yellow-eyed demon. With this much time passed, he definitely would have had visions already.

It eased a little with some liquid help. Dean was more the type to medicate with booze, but he wasn’t a stranger to it. He found himself stopping by a bar or two on his various outings or driving out of town—his music playing through the Impala’s sound system—and drinking until he passed out in the back seat. He hoped, with time, that he wouldn’t need to do it, and the feeling would just go away.

As it turned out, it was nearly impossible to hide anything from Castiel. He noticed almost everything. In fact, Sam had only managed to conceal his drinking in the first place accidentally, since Cas had naturally assumed that since Dean drank fairly regularly, so did his brother. He just didn’t have enough information to work off of. But he picked up on the escalation, nonetheless. When Sam left for the night, and Dean fell asleep after a few hours of excitement and exercise, Cas went to go look for him.

It didn’t take long. In an attempt to be safe, Sam had left the Impala at their motel and walked. So, Cas merely checked all the bars within a few blocks, and found him at the third one.

He slid onto a stool next to the hunter, and ordered a whiskey and cola without saying a word to him. Though he wore jeans and sneakers, he’d donned the trenchcoat Sam had picked out for him and kept it on in the bar. It was a little long in the arms without a suit jacket underneath. The angel didn’t mind that it fell past his knuckles. It was actually a little comforting. When his drink arrived, he cradled it with both hands.

“What’s up, Cas?” Sam asked after a minute or so.

He smiled a little, but kept his eyes on the beverage. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” he returned. “Dean hasn’t noticed it yet, but he will.”

Sam snorted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” his voice strained. He let it. He didn’t have to hide his emotions from the humans. In fact, they liked him more when he didn’t. “You’re not okay. It’s pretty obvious you’re not.” He looked at him for a fleeting moment before turning away for a long sip. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won’t be angry—and I don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

Taking a few gulps of beer, he winced. Sighing, “You’re right. There is something wrong. I just have no idea what.”

Cas grew pensive. “But it has to do with me.”

Sam nodded, drinking again. “Sort of.”

“Me and Dean?”

“Yeah, but it’s not—I’m really, really not against it. You two—it’s great. Please don’t think I am.”

Cas patted him on the arm. “I believe you, Sam.” After a moment, “But there _is_ something. Maybe it’s not repulsion or anger. I couldn’t imagine you being either of those, anyhow. Not about this. You’re far too compassionate, from what I’ve seen. Maybe, instead, it’s—envy or,” he gulped, “jealousy?”

Sam’s eyes widened as the thought occurred to him. He went pale. “Oh God.”

“It’s okay. I mean, we kinda made you into a third wheel. You were bound to feel a little—”

“That’s not it,” he cut in firmly. “Cas, that’s not it at all.”

He blinked. “What?”

Looking like he might start to cry, Sam stayed quiet for a long time. “It _is_ jealousy.” He wasn’t upset at not getting to be in a relationship, but he very well could be jealous.

Cas blushed. “Aww. Look, Sam. I think you’re wonderful. I really do. I just—Dean and I do share a more profound bond, you know?” The young hunter was very kind, to the point of sweetness, and not exactly hard to look at. If he were not otherwise involved, Sam might even be a possible candidate for romance. Hell, his formerly human self probably preferred the more muscular and health-conscious brother, especially considering his better track record with sharing and managing emotions.

But he was with Dean, and they loved each other. Sam could find someone else. If he needed help in that department, Cas had a wealth of advice to offer.

He retorted with a drunken scoff. “I’m not jealous of my brother.”

Cas tilted his head to one side. He tried and failed to understand what the alternative could be.

Before he could ask, Sam beat him to the punch. “I think—God help me—I’m jealous of you.” His lower lip quivered. Light from the bar glistened off the corners of his eyes, where tears were forming.

But the angel tried to comfort him. “No, you don’t have to be upset. It make sense. He looks out for you, and it’s been only you for a long time. I’m taking some of that away.”

“You’re not getting me,” he insisted. Shaking his head furiously, “It’s a whole lot more specific than that, dude.” He finished his beer and started on another, which was already waiting. Cas had no idea how many he’d gone through. “I—am jealous—of you. You hear me?” His eyes told Cas everything he needed to know.


	9. I Was in the House When the House Burned Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

“Oh,” was all he could get out at first. Then, “I-uh—I’m sorry.”

Sam covered his eyes with both hands, groaning. “You know, I should’ve known this was it.” He finished that beer in only a few gulps, and motioned for another. “I actually—oh God.”

Cas squinted toward half-filled liquor bottles lining the back of the bar. “You what?”

“Last year, I—I came onto him.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I was drunk. Drunker than I am now,” he laughed, but it was out of how ridiculous the situation felt. “We were at some shitty inn. There was a ghost killing people. We were on a case.” He sniffed. “I thought—we were in deep with this demon. I was in rough shape, so I got drunk. I used to never get drunk. Not even at college really.”

Cas reached for a napkin and handed it over to him. He rubbed at his eyes with it until they were red and raw. Rather than processing what Sam was saying, Cas simply listened and took it in.

“And I—I fucking came onto him. I don’t know why. I just wanted to. But I wasn’t—he didn’t—of course he didn’t. He’s my brother. He would never—” He couldn’t look at Cas at all. “The next morning, I was puking. And I-I acted like I didn’t remember anything. He just said it was a good thing I didn’t and never brought it up again.”

“What actually happened?” Castiel asked despite himself. He couldn’t reign in his curiosity, even though telling the story clearly hurt Sam, and even though he wasn’t certain he really wanted to find out.

The hand that reached for Sam’s glass was shaking. “I dunno, I-I was upset about the demon stuff, and he was—he was right there, holding onto me. And I was drunk and upset. And it just felt so much better ‘cause he was there. And I just—it seemed like the right thing to do at the time—I just—I kissed him.” He put his head down, burying it in his arms. His shoulders shook.

Cas placed one hand tenuously on him. “And he, what, pushed you away?”

“Not right away,” came his muffled voice. Sitting up a little, “He kinda just froze. I even thought—for a second—that he might—but I think he just couldn’t believe it.” His face, red from the crying, showed absolute devastation. “And then, yeah, he did. And he shook his head at me and just looked so—disappointed. And he said ‘No.’ Just ‘Sammy, no.’ So, I kinda threw myself down on one of the beds and pretended to black out. I eventually did, anyway.”

“But he was there in the morning, still?” he pressed.

Sam sniffed again. “I dunno if he was worried about the amount I drank or what, but he was still there when I did pass out. He left for awhile, but came right back, like it was nothing.” Coughing, “For weeks, all I could think about was how it could’ve been or what it might’ve been like—God, I’m going to Hell.”

Cas finished his drink. “No, you’re not.” It was the sort of response one might give to be supportive, but his tone had the confidence of someone who knew for sure. “Of course you’re not. You don’t really think that, do you?”

“Are you serious? I’ve got one foot in the door already with the demon blood. Add this on top of it—I think there’s like two or three deadly sins in there!”

The angel rubbed his back reassuringly. “Yeah, that’s bullshit.” Since his expression still seemed shadowed in doubt, Cas spun on the stool to face him. “I wouldn’t lie about this. You haven’t done anything to deserve damnation. Not even close—and your goodness and incredible faith are more than enough to earn your soul a spot in Heaven.” He pulled him a few inches closer. “Try to see through the dogma of men. There is no divine rule that governs any of this. You haven’t hurt anyone, Sam. You will not be punished.” He straightened his back. “Though you seem to be punishing yourself already.”

“That’s because it’s fucked up,” Sam replied. It might not have been worthy of hellfire in Cas’s eyes, but there wasn’t anything good about it.

He shrugged. “Well, actually, that depends. This society doesn’t approve, sure. But there have been many societies across human history, and not all share those rules. Regardless, neither you nor Dean really exist within this society beyond what little is utterly necessary. You’re separated from it, and you always have been. So, in a way, you don’t really have to abide by whatever this society tells you is and isn’t ‘fucked up.’ Dean can date an angel if he chooses, and you can have eyes for your own blood. Of the two, I’ll give you one guess as to which has been more common historically.”

“But I really can’t, Cas,” he protested. “Nothing good will ever come of this, for anyone.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I really don’t know.” He paused, slipping the bartender one of Dean’s credit cards and telling him to use it for both tabs. Turning back, “Either way, you might just have to find a mechanism to deal with it—something to distract you. I don’t think booze is the right way to go about it, though.”

Sam got up from his seat and wobbled a little. “Maybe the right way to deal is to just take off. I could leave, at least for awhile. Work some cases on my own.”

“No,” Cas said firmly. His blue eyes showed an almost violent sincerity, even in the dim lighting. “That’s an awful idea. You can’t leave, and I’ll be damned if I let you.”

“I don’t see any other option.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he returned right away. No kid gloves for this part of the conversation. “That would kill him. You know it would. And, something else. Since I assume you wouldn’t be telling him the real reason why—and I don’t blame you—he would most certainly think that I was the cause, or our relationship was, and that it drove you away.” Cas stared him down. Even though he was nearly half a foot shorter than Sam, his sudden fierceness still proved intimidating.

“No matter what you did tell him, he’d think that. And he would do whatever he felt was necessary to fix it. In a competition between you and me, I lose. I lose every fucking time.” He clenched his jaw. “And I’m okay with that, because we’re not in competition, Sam. Not really. And you’re not gonna leave—because you’re not that selfish. I really believe you’re not.”

He leaned back against the stool. “I don’t know what to do.”

Cas headed for the door, motioning for Sam to follow. “You’re gonna stay put, and you’re gonna put on a good face. You’re going to pretend that you’re fine, and we’re not going to say anything about this to Dean. And when you need to, you can talk to me about it.”

“You’re actually okay with lying to him?” he accused.

Once outside, Cas looked around quickly before responding. “No, I’m not fucking okay with lying to him,” he purposefully used a deeper voice that he typically reserved for other angels. With no witnesses present, he shoved Sam against the exterior wall of the bar. His body alone was not strong enough to do that, but he threw a little energy behind it to get the job done. Holding him there, he stretched his neck upward and snarled through gritted teeth mere inches from his face. “And if I had any way around it—any way at all—I would pursue that. Believe me. But I don’t. You’re not giving me a choice.”

“And I won’t let you destroy what we have just because you’re feeling a little uncomfortable,” he growled, shoving him again. Sam drunkenly tried to struggle free, but his human strength—and he was quite strong—was nothing against raw energy. “You understand me?” he continued. “Is it getting through all that poison you’ve pumped into yourself? You know, the shit that started this in the first place!”

Another shove. He balled his hand into a fist and pulled it back to hit him—but stopped when he looked at the man’s face. It was a mix of terror and despondency—and acceptance. More of that self-loathing and heartache he’d noticed in Sam since before they’d even met in person.

Cas reminded himself that Sam was still his friend, and that he really didn’t deserve how he treated himself, let alone how he was being treated by a creature much stronger than him. He slowly dropped his hand and eventually let him go entirely. “I can’t lose him, Sam,” he switched back to his more human voice and let the anger melt from his expression. The emotion drifted away from him soon after. “I don’t really have anything else. I have him, and I have our friendship—and then I have a thousand of my kin who want to see me die—and I can’t take this life, and especially not a civil war, without you both.” He took a few steps toward the street. “Please, stay here. You have to.”

Sam stood there, pressed against the wall for a long time. He was either afraid to move for worry of causing another outburst of rage—or, more likely, fearful he might not be able to stand on his own, both from the drinking and from sheer emotional exhaustion. “I won’t leave,” he said finally.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to seem the least threatening as he could manage—a stark contrast from just moments before—Cas reverted to a more timid approach. It was one Sam had seen before, and he was more used to that side of Castiel than his angry self or even the super-outgoing he’d been as a human. He was a mix of many things now, and wasn’t quite adept at controlling which parts came to the surface, and when.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” His voice was quiet. “If I can help, even if it’s just to listen, I’d like to.”

He half-closed his eyes. “Can you help me back to the room? I feel like shit.”

The angel nodded, offering his shoulder for him to lean on. He took advantage, and they started walking. “I wouldn’t want you to leave, either,” Cas managed on the way. “Even if it wouldn’t mess everything up. I want you to stay, too.”

Sam forced a weak smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

When they got to the motel, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed in an oversized shirt and boxers. He hadn’t quite buttoned the top properly, so it hung a little off one shoulder, and part of his chest was exposed. His sleepy eyes squinted at the small television as he flipped through the channels. He turned to give them a questioning look, but when he saw Sam’s condition, he smiled beautifully. “What the hell happened, Sammy? It looks like you had almost half a beer,” he teased.

Cas couldn’t help but eye Dean up a little, and it was a good distraction from the seriousness of the situation. He looked over at his charge, but found him trying to avoid doing the exact same thing. Dean rarely wore so little clothing in front of his brother—for a now very obvious reason. Seeing him sit there so nonchalantly, and knowing that he probably only wore that small amount because he’d guessed that Cas had gone to look for Sam—it was too much to handle.

But at least Sam wasn’t crying, a fact that made both he and the angel incredibly thankful. Cas brought him over to the other bed and helped him into it. For an added touch, he pulled off the younger Winchester’s shoes and set them next to Dean’s. Sam shot a knowing glance at Cas before closing his eyes deliberately and turning away from him with a groan.

Dean waited a few moments before motioning for Cas to come over to him. When he did, Dean kissed him in silence. Then, “Not gonna lie, I’m pretty surprised he got sloshed.”

Cas looked over at the other hunter and made himself smile innocently. “Not much else is open this late.”

“Still.”

“I think he’s just bored. You guys haven’t been taking jobs as much now that I’m here,” he pointed out. Maybe monster hunting would be the kind of diversion Sam needed. It was what they were good at. In fact, before his arrival, they seemed to consider it their entire purpose in life.

Dean raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “That’s true.” He’d been itching for a fight for days, and Sam didn’t really have anything or anyone else to focus on.

“I can sit the big ones out if you want, until you think I’m ready. And go along for the others.”

The hunter liked that arrangement a lot. He completely and wholeheartedly wanted to go out and kill a bunch of bad things. It was one of his favorite pastimes, after all. And as much as he would’ve loved to see Cas fight by his side, he also wanted him to be safe—needed him to be. So, until he was ready, he should hang back. On the plus side, it could be nice to have the angel waiting for him at the end of the day.

“Sounds good,” he kissed him again. “I’ll look for a case in the morning.”

***

A short web search yielded not one but three possibles. There seemed to be an outbreak of werewolves near Boston. San Francisco was having an issue with club-hopping vampires, and something demonic was going down in Chicago. Dean’s vote was for the werewolves, since Boston was the closest, but given his unfortunate history with them, Sam leaned toward the vamps. When asked his opinion, the angel signaled that perhaps Chicago was a good bet. The reason? They never did track down the demon that had been killing all those phone sex workers, and this activity was suspiciously close to where Cas once lived.

Dean thought it was a terrible idea bringing Cas back to Illinois so soon, but if they kept him relatively out of sight, maybe they could pull it off. And they did want to know how a demon caught wind of an angel on earth, and what that demon had planned for him before the hunters intervened.

Plus, Cas did know a thing or two about fighting them, since he had done so on more than one occasion as a full angel. Combined with the small amount of training they’d given him for ghosts—salt and iron also being effective on low-level demons—this job was the only one Dean felt even remotely alright taking him along on. Moreover, demon hunting was one of the few times Sam really got to shine, since he had all of the exorcizing lingo and traps memorized. It may not be as hands-on as killing monsters, but a good demon case was better than nothing at all.

So, they wriggled their way out of the northeast and headed for the Windy City.

It took little more than a day. As they neared, Cas tried again to convince them to let him see his human sister Lynn. “It would mean the world to her,” he insisted meekly after another resounding “No!” from the brothers. He needed to stay missing, they insisted, or else try and answer some questions that didn’t have logical, normal-sounding answers. Nevermind that his elder niece had provided the authorities with a fairly accurate description of the Winchesters, and they would certainly want to have a few words with Lucas Peterson’s alleged kidnappers.

“Then, at least, let’s make a pit stop.” There was a great sandwich shop on the East Side that he frequented in his twenties. They wouldn’t recognize him with so much time passed, he assured the two, and the food was incredible.

And the brothers sure liked it. With gigantic mounds of meat for Dean and roasted vegetables with actual flavor for Sam, they dug in along with the angel, who got the same exact Reuben he used to get when he thought he was human and actually enjoyed eating.

As they dined, Cas kept one wary eye on the shop’s entrance, and resisted the urge to pick up his phone in front of the others. But, as much as he wanted to take their advice and to trust it, the temptation had proved too daunting. From the back of the car, about an hour earlier, he’d texted her the simplest message he could manage and prayed she wouldn’t immediately call the police. “ _Remember Sal’s? Two p.m. Everything is OK_.”

It was closer to two-thirty when her black Mercedes pulled into a spot across the street. She burst out of the vehicle in a flourish, dressed for work in heels and a skirt. The breeze picked up her hair and abused it, but she didn’t seem to notice. She sprinted across the street, hardly looking for oncoming traffic, and somehow made it to the other side in one piece. When she got to the door, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were wide and wild.

He stood up and nudged the plastic and metal chair out of the way. Behind him, he heard Dean swear. “Oh, God damnit, Cas.” Sam said nothing, but Cas was sure the feeling was mutual. He didn’t care.

With every inch of her shaking, she dove for him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stayed like that for what felt like minutes. “You bastard,” she whispered. “You fucking bastard. Why didn’t you call? Do you know what we all thought?! You fucking asshole. Fucking bastard.” She cried into his collar, and he let her.

Her familiar perfume filled his nose when he breathed. Holding onto her tightly, “I’m sorry, Lynn.”

“Damn right you’re sorry, you jerk,” she sniffed. “My kids think you’re dead.”

He smoothed back her hair. “Both of them? Or just Allie?”

Surprised, she pulled back from him. “Maddie won’t talk about it. What did you do? Lucas, you tell me right now what happened!” Abruptly, she noticed the other two, who were now standing, and she made the connection. “Lucas, what happened?” she whispered. “The police used a black light. They said there was blood everywhere. They said you had to be dead, just by the amount. Did these men hurt you? Are you still in danger?” The last part was barely audible.

He shook his head and hugged her again. “No, I’m okay, and they’re the good guys. It’s—very complicated. I can’t—I shouldn’t,” he looked back at them for a second, before refocusing on her. “It _is_ dangerous, Lynn. It’s better if you know as little as possible.” He gulped. “I just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”

She stared him down, her eyes pleading with him to tell her more. When he offered up nothing else, she glared at the other two. “They’re not Feds,” she said quickly, her voice cracking. “That’s what they told you when they showed up, but that was a lie. The police checked.”

“I know,” his voice was solemn. “You have to trust me. They’re helping.”

“You should come home. Please, Lucas,” she cried. It was clear by her tone that she already knew he had no plans to do so.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Behind him, Dean cleared his throat, “Hey-uh, Lucas?” Hearing him use that name gave the angel a strange feeling. “We need to get going.” People were watching.

He wanted to respond angrily, but instead looked down at the floor. “Just one more minute.” He looked down at his sister. “You can’t tell people about this, Lynn. It’s important that you don’t. You gotta keep acting like I’m gone.”

She let out a sob. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. You’ll be in danger if anyone finds out that you know I’m alive. Allie and Maddie will be, too.”

She touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Oh, Lucas. What’s happened to you?” Her voice was filled with sadness. “You’re so different, now. You don’t even sound the same.”

He wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t understand. “When bad things happen, it changes you,” he explained carefully. “I just didn’t want you to think I was dead, or to lose hope.”

She embraced him for one final time. “If I send you a message, will you respond? I won’t tell anyone—not even the girls—just so I know you’re still okay?”

“I can’t promise anything.” Screw it, he thought. “Maybe now and again, when I can.” Dean grunted, but he ignored t. “But you gotta delete them right away, and I’m gonna switch to a different phone so they can’t trace it.”

“Deal.”

Sniffing, Lynn inched back toward the exit. She lifted one hand to make a weak wave of goodbye, turned, and left quickly. He watched her cross the street, more carefully this time, and get into her car. His eyes followed it as it drive away. Even when she was gone, he kept his eyes on the spot where the vehicle had been parked.

“We have to leave now. Right now,” Dean insisted, grabbing his coat and rushing out. Sam followed without a word. The angel lingered just a moment longer, hoping to sear the image of his sister and this place into the inside of his skull—just trying to hold onto it. It was only when he feared they reached the car that he made any attempt the join them. When he got in, the brothers gave him the silent treatment until they found a motel.

They checked in and brought their bags up to a second floor room. But Dean’s every move was mechanical, and anger radiated off of him. It was obvious. He made no attempt to hide it. Once inside, “That was really fucking stupid,” he scolded.

But the long quiet gave Cas plenty of time to come up with a good defense. “Don’t give me that,” he snarled right back, letting a little of his anger back through. “You’d do the same thing in an instant, ten times over, and weeks earlier! You think you’re the only one with family you care about?” He paced around. His head hurt—an intense sharp pain just above his left eyebrow. He let it stay.

“Anyone you contact is vulnerable,” rage seethed out of him with every word. “If they get hurt, you’re responsible. That’s on you.”

“You’re a damn hypocrite,” he spat. “If it was your brother—”

Sam stayed out of it, taking a seat in the corner. He tried not to look at them, and he kept his mouth shut. While he agreed that contacting her was probably a bad idea, he didn’t blame Cas for doing it. And, he was right. Both of the Winchesters would meet back up with each other without a second thought if they were in his shoes, regardless of the danger. It wouldn’t even be a question.

“That’s not the same,” Dean countered. “She’s not even really your sister, for fuck’s sake!”

Every muscle in Cas’s body tightened. He flexed inside his skin, and the entire room shook. “You think so little of me, that I would not care for her? That I wouldn’t want to take away as much of her pain as possible? I may not be human, not really, but my memories and emotions from when I thought I was—they’re more complete, and they’re more real to me than anything from before!  And, truth is, I had a whole family that I cared about, but in the end, they all left, all distanced themselves from me, or worse—except for her. She was always there. And I left her, and I hurt her in the process.”

Dean hesitated. He didn’t know that about Cas, that at least some of his human family had disowned him. He could take a couple of guesses as to why—but really, it didn’t matter, and none of it was something he deserved. His expression softened as he tried to think of something to say.

“I had to fix it,” the angel continued. “I mean, I couldn’t repair it entirely, but I could do that. I could give her hope, again.”

The older hunter walked up to him, but changed his mind and sat down nearby. “I get it,” he said after a long pause to swallow his pride. “And you’re right. That’s exactly what I would do.”

Sam gave a nod of agreement from across the room.

Cas looked at Dean with a stern expression. The argument had fizzled, but both of them were still angry. Despite himself, Dean had long since taken on a tendency of his father’s: he didn’t appreciate being defied by those in his charge, and he certainly didn’t want to be deceived by them. But Castiel was not a child, nor was he even a relative. He was thousands upon thousands of years old, and when it came down to it, he did what he wanted. Sure, they were romantically entangled—and very much so—but Cas didn’t think that meant he should be bossed around, especially when it came to his sister. He’d given up so much already, and everything he had left seemed so tenuous and fragile.

As they stared at each other, though, the tension slowly faded. Of course Cas would contact his sister, Dean thought as he motioned for him to come closer. They’d basically brought him right back to her. He shouldn’t be angry, he told himself. If it were Sam, he would have done it, too.

And of course Dean and Sam would advise against it. They were only trying to protect Cas’s family from angels and demons and anything else that might come along. Though they said nothing audibly of these thoughts, it passed between them just as vocally. Cas took a seat next to him on the bed and let his shoulder rest against Dean’s arm.

The hunter thought about the situation for a moment and decided it was up to him to mend things. He threw one arm around the angel and pulled him closer. He kissed him on the side of his head and stayed there for much longer than he generally would have with Sam in the room. Then, abruptly, he let him go again. Cas rewarded him with a slight smile.

Sam let them have the moment together. He did want to see a resolution to the argument, and, moreover, he was more than a little fascinated their dynamic.


	10. Mr. Bad Example

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

After a few minutes, Sam pulled out a series of maps from an old leather case and started pouring over them. His every movement radiated apathy to their public display, though he couldn’t have been farther from it. Even when they were angry with each other, they were still so incredibly close and intimate. The hot sensation in the bottom of his stomach really was jealousy, he decided. But, being able to identify it now did nothing to help extinguish it. In fact, it seemed to make things worse.

He waited until the exchange was over, plus a few minutes, before addressing them. “So, I think I’ve narrowed it down to two warehouses by the river,” he said with a forced matter-of-fact tone. “They’re both a few blocks away. We could walk there if we wanted to.”

Dean stood up and drifted over to him. He peered down at the map, which had both buildings circled in red. “Signals for both of them?”

“Well, no. Just one set, and I think it’s probably the smaller one. But the lightning reported was too close to both of them to be sure.” As his brother leaned in for an even closer look, Sam inched back in his seat.

“What do we know about these? What are they being used for?” he pointed toward the paper.

Sam tried desperately to focus. Why did he have to get that close? He always did. But his eyesight was fine. God, Sam wished Dean would just back up a little, but of course he couldn’t ask him. He had no explanation he was willing to give. “One’s a big storage warehouse for an office supply company. The other’s part of a mill.”

“Is the mill operating?”

“No, and the owner is a defunct luxury furniture dealer.” He grinned a little as they both had the same thought.

Dean smiled and slapped the table. “There we go! I bet this demon douchebag is livin’ it up in there.”

“And no one for blocks to disturb whatever they’re planning,” Sam added, mostly to show him they were on the same page. “These warehouses are all low security.” He gestured across much of the map. “I think half of them are up for lease, too.”

“Bingo. Let’s go.” Dean headed for the door. The younger Winchester got up, too, and folded the map before tucking it under his arm.

But Cas stopped them by blocking their path. “Wait, what about a plan? Or do you already have one?”

Dean winked at him. “Way I figure, we’ve probably already been made, if this isn’t a trap to begin with.”

“Then, we shouldn’t go!” the angel was clearly alarmed. Yet the brothers smiled at the same time, and slowly Cas realized he was missing something. “What’s going on?” he asked, feeling uncomfortable.

Dean walked up to him and took hold of him by the chin, pushing his head up a little. “If we’ve been made, they’ll come after us on their own time, probably very soon. In which case, we won’t be prepared. Or, we could surprise the sons of bitches.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

“Even if they jump us, we have everything we need to take them out,” Sam explained from near the exit. “We even have a gun that can kill pretty much anything.”

Anything they knew about, that is. Both brothers were rightfully suspicious of the thing’s reach—though not exactly excited to test its limits. Sure, it killed Azazel, hopefully the strongest demon they would ever meet, but they weren’t using the original bullets anymore. Thanks to Bobby’s tinkering and weeks of research, the gun had a new set of bullets it could fire with theoretically the same result. It worked on a vamp a few months back, but they couldn’t be sure it would be quite as powerful.

“We probably won’t even need the Colt, though,” Dean said confidently. “Not with the holy water, exorcisms, salt, et cetera. If they think they can trap us, then they don’t know who we are.” Then, his face grew a little more serious. “And if worse comes to worst, I’ll just, you know, get our asses out of there and nurse another hellish headache for a week.”

“You think you could carry three?” Cas was skeptical. Though he’d most certainly done it in a vessel before, Dean retained none of the control of an angel.

He scoffed. “Piece of cake! It’s not like it’s already impossible or anything like that. And you and Sammy can spring for a case of ibuprofen.”

Sam laughed at that and left the room, heading down the stairs toward the parking lot. Before Dean could follow, Cas grabbed him by his jacket. “This is so fucking reckless, Dean. Unnecessarily so,” he warned. “This demon knows things it shouldn’t. We have no idea what it has at its disposal.”

“If it’s focused on you, then it probably doesn’t know that much about us,” he insisted, “and what we’re capable of. You haven’t really seen us in action, Cas. We’re pretty badass.” When he still seemed fearful, “Look, just stay behind us, help with the exorcizing, and throw holy water on anything that moves. And when they’re all dead, if it was even halfway difficult, I’ll just make it up to you.” He raised an eyebrow and moved in for a kiss.

Cas closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it for a few moments. Then, “You could easily hurt yourself flying, too,” he vexed. “If you’re not experiencing the flight—you’re not directing it—so there’s nothing stopping you from hitting something.”

Dean kissed him again. “Yeah, but Cas, dude, I ended up exactly where I wanted to go. Each time. I mean, not just the general idea, but within a few feet! And I did it without even knowing what the hell was going on!” He seized him by his lower back and pulled him forward until they met at the waist. Cas gasped, and Dean buried his face in the angel’s collarbone.

He didn’t speak again until Cas was weak in the knees. “I’m not saying it’s safe or even that you shouldn’t worry at all—but man, just look at the evidence here. It hasn’t been a problem, yet, so don’t assume it’s gonna be. I mean, try not to. With what we do, you can’t be worried all the time. You’ll have a heart attack or a stroke if you keep that up.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of something that’s my fault.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” he rocked a little in place, pressing into Cas’s pelvis. It drove him crazy, which is precisely why Dean kept doing it. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.” He jerked, and the motion sent a bolt of pleasure shooting from the points where they touched. For added effect, he lightly ran his tongue up Cas’s neck. “If anything takes me out, it’s gonna be like a bus or something mundane like that. When it comes to the crazy stuff, I’m pretty much bulletproof.”

“So, you’re a superhero, is what you’re saying?” He ran his hands up Dean’s back. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sam was waiting—he understood now quite impatiently—outside, he would’ve made quick work of the pesky articles of clothing that stood between them.

He laughed. Sure, why not? They saved people all the time. Ignoring that they ganked things regularly, too, it wasn’t that far off. “Well, yeah. I got a cool ride, a sidekick, a scandalous love interest—” His lips pressed into Cas’s neck, just below his jaw on the left side. “—and, oh yeah, I can fly.” He beamed.

“But you don’t wear a disguise!” he played along. They had to go, but he wanted to stall a bit longer. Moments when Dean let himself be lighthearted, even just a small amount, were very rare. He cherished them, and he adored encouraging them. “Where’s your mask? Your cape?”

“C’mon!” he scoffed dramatically. “I’m way too cool for that.”

“No, you must have something. Armor or makeup or yellow spandex.”

He burst out laughing, and planted another kiss on him before letting him go completely. “How many comic books did you read as a kid, anyhow?” He conveniently ignored the strangeness of an angel having a childhood—let alone a more complete and “normal” one than either of the Winchesters.

Cas smiled. “Tons! All I did was read and watch movies and slack off in school.”

“Huh,” he opened the door and motioned for the angel to exit. “That’s a lot closer to me growing up than I would’ve thought. Course, I also killed things.”

With a solemn expression, Cas took up his hand by the wrist and kissed the back of it. He didn’t know the full extent of it, but he had a strong hunch that Dean and Sam’s upbringing was more like one long and painful military boot camp than the type of stuff he and Lynn and his nieces were fortunate enough to have. But, there was no sense in bringing it up and ruining Dean’s good mood. “I should warn you, though. I had a thing for superheroes. I was a really big fan.”

Dean made a clicking noise and winked at him. “There you go. I must be one, then.”

“Must be.”

They were both smiling by the time they joined Sam in the car. He was already sitting behind the wheel, and since he knew where they were going, anyway, Dean reluctantly let him stay put.

The beauty that was Dean’s rebuilt ’67 Chevy Impala pulled into an empty side lot a few minutes later. Paved in tan concrete with nutrient-starved weeds growing through the cracks, the landscape looked like it hadn’t had visitors in years. But, once they got near a sliding door, they saw that the rusted metal had fresh scratch marks from use. Black paint chips lay at the base. They were light enough to be picked up by the wind, which meant the door had been used today, perhaps even within the last couple of hours.

It was already open enough that they could squeeze through without the noise of trying to shove it on the track. Armed to the teeth with all the essentials, including jugs of holy water for each of them, rock salt guns, and a book of the appropriate chants for Dean, who still didn’t have them memorized, they entered the building as quietly as possible. The older brother also had the Colt, which he’d tucked away in the back of his waistband, out of sight. He had no intention of using it unless they were out of options—and even then, part of him favored risking another Cas-mojo-powered flight, rather than waste their bullets.

But the sight that greeted them was anything but a pack of angry demons waiting to pounce. In fact, there was only one: a middle-aged white guy seated leisurely on a leather couch in the middle of the vaulted mill room. He read the day’s city newspaper, and though he very likely knew they were there, he didn’t immediately look up. Around him were the basic trappings of an upper class living room—lamps, rugs, furniture. There was even a mini-fridge to his right, and on top of that, a bottle of whiskey sat with a half-filled glass next to it.

Dean pulled out the book and flipped to the first page with writing on it. Cas set one hand on his bottle of blessed water, and Sam produced a shotgun, which he pointed at the demon.

The creature looked up and smiled. “Honeymoon over?” he asked in a loose Scottish accent.

“I recognize you,” Cas said out of the blue, stepping forward. He uncapped the plastic bottle and held it at his side, but he didn’t raise it. “But it doesn’t make sense.”

He set the paper down on a small coffee table and stood. Dusting himself off, “Sure it does, Castiel. Think really hard. Oh, and do tell the boys who I am. It would be rude not to introduce me.”

Using his deeper tone, “He’s a crossroads demon,” he told them, keeping his eyes on the creature. “He’s an asshole, but he’s basically harmless.”

“Ouch!” the demon winced. “Sweetie, is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“We were never friends. I’m sure of this.”

He lifted one finger to signal he was about to make a point. “Right. You all look the same to me.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean spoke up. “You made a deal with an angel? Bullshit. Angels don’t have souls, so there’s nothing to exchange, and anyway, I’m positive your boss would have a bone to pick with you about that.”

“What’s your name, boy?” the demon asked. “Which one of the Winchesters are you? Oh yes, your reputation precedes you.”

Dean smiled. “Guess.”

“Well, last I heard, our feathered friend here was getting down and dirty with the more effeminate older brother,” he pointed directly at him. “So, you must be Dean. And the moose over there would be Sam.” He bowed slightly. “It’s almost a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Crowley, and I’m not just a crossroads demon. I’m _the_ crossroads demon. The king.”

“And what is the king of the crossroads demons doing here?” Sam inquired quickly, showing no sign of being impressed. Dean needed a moment longer to let being called effeminate roll off of him, but the effort proved successful when he reminded himself who the speaker was.

Crowley pivoted so that his entire body faced Cas. “An opportunity fell into my lap the other day that I simply couldn’t pass up.” He circled around the angel like a vulture, looking him up and down. “You see, a young lady came to one of my employees. She wanted to sell a bit of property in order to realize her full potential. Nothing strange about that. But, when my girl went in to close the deal, well, wouldn’t you know, little lass didn’t have a soul to cough up!”

Cas stayed perfectly still. None of the three said a word.

“And a’course, I found that to be a bit odd, wouldn’t you? So, I checked into it. She wasn’t a creepy crawly or anything like that, either. As it turned out, that girl was a damned angel, stuck into a human body for punishment, of all things. A hundred years of punishment.”

“So, what did you do with that information?” Cas racked his brain trying to remember any other angel that might have gotten the same treatment he had. There was one, wasn’t there? Higher up on the food chain.

“Well, being a good and kind-hearted man,” he made himself laugh, “I thought I’d help get her life in order.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How compassionate.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he dismissed. “I had to call in more than a few favors to find that little ungrateful bitch her batteries, and when she had them, she reneged on her part of the deal.”

Dean mumbled something sarcastic about being surprised.

“Only reason I found it at all is because your mates are lazy beyond belief—and smug bastards, too. They honestly thought no one would catch on! But they’re giving timeouts to naughty little angels on my turf, yeah? And I got one to blab all about it.”

Rhiannon. The angel’s name was Rhiannon. A hyper-powerful soldier responsible for high-up war orders and all sorts of other things Cas was never privy to. This angel was probably one of the most powerful he had ever met, and he’d only encountered her once, when she’d assigned him to lead his garrison. He remembered that on earth Rhiannon unilaterally preferred female vessels, thus the pronoun choice, and that she’d thought he was a particularly loyal and reliable fighter. He’d been honored that she knew and noticed that.

“Anna,” Crowley supplied her human name. “Fiery redhead nearly after my black heart if I had such an inclination. But I should have known a creature like that wouldn’t give up valuable information without getting something more in return. So, we made a new deal.”

“No,” Cas growled. “What would she have to gain from you killing me? You’re lying.”

He laughed . “Who said anything about killing you? All I had to do is craft a little danger. Got one of my boys to take out a bunch of those pretty boys. Get you shakin’ in your angel boots.”

“Why would she want that?”

“Damn, you’re dense! I thought your type were smart. Do I have to explain every detail? Fine. She needed you to tell your bosses to bugger off, right? And since you’re just the best little soldier, the only way you would do that is if you thought there was still a danger on Earth. You know, something you had to stop, people you had to protect, blah blah blah.” He meandered back to the couch and dropped onto it. “Such a good example of following the rules going AWOL? That was bound to stir things up, wasn’t it?”

He knew she’d done something to deserve the punishment, but the idea that she would rebel like this—he couldn’t believe it. “Rhiannon would not want a civil war.”

“So, that’s the bitch’s real name. Huh,” he poured more whiskey into his glass, but didn’t take a drink. “You bet your feathered ass she does. Not only does she want it, when it’s all over, she plans to make herself the new boss, and kill any poor sod who gets in her way.”

“And what did you get out of it?” Dean asked, moving in front of Cas.

He grinned. “You mean other than absolute chaos amongst my enemies? Right. I got a play-by-play of exactly how you fuckers work, how to ward you off, and how I can use that delicious info to get ahead in my slice of hell. She also volunteered to smite a few of my competitors when the time is right, and I wholly intend to take her up on that offer.”

Cas didn’t want to believe it. He’d been used and manipulated into rebelling—by an angel that was supposed to be closer to God. When Dean looked over at him, all he saw was despair.

“I’m sorry, maybe I missed something. Why are you telling us this?” Sam was more annoyed than impatient.

He picked up the glass and motioned with it. “You’ve got to be mighty angry right about now, aren’t you, Cassie boy? I’m here to offer my services. Put Humpty Dumpty together again—in that fantastic body of yours—so you can get back in the game.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “Not even remotely possible. I’m an angel, you ass. I don’t have a soul to sell.”

“Irrelevant,” he laughed again. “As for your vessel problem, all it takes is a bit of gene therapy. I don’t think you understand how much power I really have.”

“No,” Dean objected. “He’s not making a deal with you. You’re not making a deal with this douchebag, Cas.”

But he tuned him out. “What do you want?”

“Nothing right away, of course. But later—let’s say, in ten years—you can go to work for me now and then. Sign some contracts.”

“Ut-uhh. No fucking way!” Dean couldn’t even believe the demon would make such an offer.

Sam was in agreement. “That’s ridiculous. He’s an angel.”

Crowley stood again and strutted up to Cas, still holding the liquor. “Oh, it’s not so bad, is it? When you’re not working, you can go back to shacking up with hunter types.” He sidled up close to the angel, and glanced at him seductively. “Buddy boy, you’ve got what they like to call ‘sex appeal.’ I can only imagine how many souls would come calling when you hit the streets.”

“Whore myself out for Lucifer?” Cas resisted.

He rested his wrist on the angel’s shoulder. It was the hand that held his drink, and the smell from it rose up and filled Cas’s nose. “Lucifer is locked up. And, as far as I’m concerned, he can stay that way. No, you’d collect souls only for me, sweetheart, and I’m the only person you would answer to.” Leaning in even closer, “Think of it like those phone calls of yours. Only a bit more up close and personal, yeah? And with a much sexier payoff.”

Dean had heard enough. He reached into his belt and produced the Colt. Pressing it against the demon’s temple, “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“Not your decision,” Crowley kept calm.

He twitched. “I’m the one with the kill-anything gun.”

“Dean, lay off,” Cas said without looking at him.

“Yeah, Dean. Lay off.” The last two words were Crowley’s surprisingly accurate Cas impression.

“Please.”

The hunter shook his head. “Nope. Sorry, Cas. I can’t let you do that. And I won’t. You want your juice back? Fine. I get it. You wanna kick ass and take names. That’s great. I’d love to help. But we’ll find another way. You’re not gonna let some demon dickhead pimp you out. You’re better than that.”

“You don’t understand.”

Dean tilted his head to one side. “Maybe not, but you’ll thank me later.” He shoved the gun into Crowley’s skin, “Get lost or get dead.”

“Last chance, lad. What’ll it be?” he let the last word dangle off his bottom lip.

Castiel closed his eyes. “No. No deal.”

“Your funeral, love.” And he vanished.

Looking around to be sure, Dean lowered the weapon and put it back. Cas stayed still—staring off into nothing. He didn’t think there would be a second chance. But Dean didn’t let him sulk for long. He moved into the angel’s view, picked up his hands, and placed them on his own face. “Why would you stop me?” Cas asked in a shaky voice.

Dean glared at him. “People do reckless things when they’re angry and in pain, and they do really stupid things. When that happens, the people who care about them step up.”

“I am useless this way. And you know it.”

“Oh, come on. That’s bullshit, Cas.”

“Is it? I’m not sure if you even want me to be whole again. If we ever do find another way, when the time comes, will you give up the power I gave you?” he accused, a lump forming in his throat. “Or keep it for yourself?”

He wanted to be angry, to respond with rage at the mere implication, but he could tell that Cas didn’t really mean it. The angel couldn’t look at him, and he shifted his weight nervously. He was just upset, just devastated and hurt. “Man, I don’t freakin’ care about that. I just want to keep _you_ for myself, Cas,” he emphasized every word.

Sam blinked. He’d never heard Dean speak like that and actually mean it—and he very obviously did. He got that serious all the time, but he never spoke this way to anyone. This is what it looked like when his brother was in love. He’d never actually seen it before. Castiel was unbelievably lucky. He didn’t know how much.

“I mean, I’m pouring my heart out here, Cas. You’re all I think about. Do you really think I want anything else? It’s just you. And I couldn’t let you join the dark side. I know you’re too good for that. I just know.”

His hands fell to Dean’s chest. “You’re biased,” he said eventually.

“I don’t care.” He kissed him on the forehead. “I’m right.” In a much lower voice, “And every time you find yourself on a ledge—like this, like right now—I’ll be here. To pull your ass back.”


	11. As Long As You Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Sam turned and quietly left the room. Once out of sight, he let the façade drop. What his brother said, it was a romanticized version of exactly the types of things Dean’d told him on dozens of occasions. Except it was different enough to kill him inside. What for anyone else might’ve sounded like more than the types of things a person would say to a sibling turned out to just be part of Dean’s intensity. He operated on a whole other level, miles above what normal people said and did. And, now, with evidence of what his version of love and passion actually looked like—Sam knew he didn’t measure up.

He sat down in the vehicle heavily. Entwining his fingers into his hair, he gripped at it as hard as he could before changing his mind and letting go. What the hell was he going to do? He felt like driving the car off a cliff or into a brick wall. He was all alone with himself, and he hated, absolutely despised, what he felt and who he’d become. Before him, inside that old mill, he saw something wonderful. He got to see Dean truly and unequivocally happy—but Sam had nothing to do with it. Nothing. He would have done anything to elicit that kind of reaction in him, to bring that out. His whole body ached with longing for it.

His stomach turned. What kind of twisted—? He couldn’t even finish the thought. Something somewhere along the line must have messed him up, he decided. Some part of their broken childhood, their militarized, borderline abusive upbringing, must have sent him on this path. He was confused, right? And it just _felt_ like attraction—and passion—and agony. There wasn’t another explanation.

He’d relied on Dean for too long. Needed him for too long. They’d spent practically every waking minute together for years, with only brief separations that even now felt like a crime to him.

And it didn’t help how his brother acted. He lost his mind when Sam went off to college. Even now, he hovered. He insisted on defending and protecting him, even when he didn’t need it, and he always, always put Sam before himself. Dean wasn’t like that with anyone else, ever. No one was more important. Not anyone. Not even Dad and his orders most of the time.

Well, not until Cas.

Castiel was something else entirely. He needed safeguarding but didn’t ever really want it, and he didn’t seem to value himself all that much. Hell, he was technically suicidal on top of that—but it didn’t make a difference to Dean. If the angel couldn’t care about himself, Dean would simply make up for it. He’d do the caring for him. He’d do twice the work if he had to, and he wouldn’t think anything of it. Sam didn’t see why he would want to give so much of himself away, either to the angel or to him. But it was just part of who he was.

And though he’d devoted almost all of that energy to Sam over the years, the newcomer connected with him differently. They had a surprising amount in common, including many things that Sam didn’t share. Taste in movies to an extent, music interests, etc. What’s more, the stuff that was vastly different seemed to be complementary. Dean needed a cautious person in his life, for example, to stay in one piece, while Cas needed a little goading to take action. Moreover, it seemed that his brother generally drank less now, while Cas had taken on the habit enough to loosen up.

It went beyond that stuff, though. They’d built connections over and over, be it with the first phone call or, more importantly, with that night they finally met in person. In the most up-close and personal way imaginable, Dean witnessed and was a part of an angel making a conscious decision to do the right thing. This was an intensely powerful being, who gave up being strong in order to be a semblance of human, and who did so in the hope of protecting those he cared about. It came at a great cost to himself. And he was only able to do it with Dean’s help.

That kind of emotional need and vulnerability was what Dean thrived on. He based his entire identity on his usefulness to others, and Cas handed him a life-altering way to be useful.

Sam gripped the steering wheel in frustration.

Even if he and Dean were not blood—which caused obvious problems—how could he ever compete with that? As time went on, Sam needed him less and less. He had nothing to offer in that respect. He wanted to be more independent. He was an adult; he could take care of himself. If anything, he thought it might be nice to be needed for once. Maybe if Dean ever needed someone to be strong for him for awhile—

He stopped. This kind of thinking—he disgusted himself. They were brothers. They would never be anything more than that, and they were never supposed to be. It wasn’t right or healthy to try, and it was downright cruel to be obsessing now. After everything Dean had done for him, from practically birth on, how did he want to repay him? By destroying the first independent, wholly beneficial relationship he’d ever had? By killing that tiny piece of happiness?

And he could do it, too. Their relationship was strong, but not old. Cas was right. If he did leave, Dean would probably try and fix it. He’d make a stupid, harmful decision. And it would hurt both of them, perhaps even beyond repair. Hell, given his emotional state, Castiel might not survive.

Sam wasn’t really considering it, but he felt ashamed for even having the thought.

He didn’t want to leave, anyway. As painful as it was to see them together, the idea of being away from Dean, and to a lesser extent the angel, too, made him dizzy. He could handle himself on his own, sure, but he didn’t want to.

As that last thought trailed off into the murky, jumbled mess inside his head, the two lovers appeared at the doorway. He forced a smile and waved. When they got in, he didn’t show even the slightest hint of annoyance or sadness. He couldn’t exactly explain it to Dean if he noticed, and he couldn’t trust Cas not to reveal the true reason, either accidentally or on purpose. His stomach felt like it was full of holes. As he started the car, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, cover himself completely, and hide. If what Dean and Cas shared was better than Heaven, then surely he was in Hell.

***

He could feel the muscles in Dean’s shoulders roll beneath the layers of cloth between them. The older hunter pushed back against Sam, who gripped the shotgun tighter. It was an absolutely useless weapon, but the group only had two that weren’t—the angel sword, which Cas wielded, and the Colt, which his brother held. He felt naked without a viable tool to use against them, and, likewise, he assumed he would be the first to die.

They were surrounded.

In the middle of a case at an art studio, which likely contained a cursed object, they were jumped by a group of five angels, fighting for the “establishment” side, as Dean put it. They didn’t stand a chance. Cas took one of them out right off the bat, and wounded another, but they were outnumbered and outgunned, and he now had a giant gash in his arm. Thick blood oozed out of the wound and streamed down the sleeve of his coat. He stood about a pace away from them, waving the sword at any angel who came close.

But he was in bad shape. He desperately needed medical attention, and though he was still standing by merit of healing himself a little, he didn’t want to waste any more energy. If and when additional injuries occurred, either to himself or to the Winchesters, he would want to help in any way he could.

He tried to stand firm and stay calm, but he looked much more like a wounded animal ready to strike out at anything that got close.

And they were getting closer by the second. One attacker slashed out at Dean’s abdomen, and to avoid it he accidentally shoved back against Sam, who nearly tumbled into the blade of another. But Dean grabbed him by the collar at the last moment and pulled him away from immediate harm. The older brother moved the gun from pointing at the creature in front of him to the one that almost got at Sam. “You back the fuck up,” he commanded, his voice loud in Sam’s ear. “I have no problem taking you out.”

He’d actually taken a shot at one of them near the beginning, but in the chaos, he missed, wasting a bullet. They were closer now, though, so even though the fuckers were fast, he was confident he could get a hit.

The one nearest to Cas laughed. “That peashooter won’t work on us!”

“You wanna bet?” he spat.

Castiel shuffled back until his bad arm touched Dean’s side. He looked down to see a line of blood dripping from his fingers. Pointing his sword, “Brothers,” he addressed the attackers, “we’re not your enemy,” his voice cracked as he breathed audibly. “We have both been led astray by a common foe, who pits us against each other.”

“More treachery from an admitted traitor,” said the one in front of Sam.

“If you’re so innocent, why don’t you simply return?” the wounded one to their left asked with a cough. “You shun and embarrass God with every moment you remain here.”

Cas gritted his teeth. “I’m no longer able.”

There was a round of laughter. “Then you’re an abomination! And we shall not suffer you to live.”

His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed heavily. “And the humans?”

“For helping you, their fates are sealed. Let God accept their souls if He so pleases, but somehow I doubt there’s a spot picked out for them in the Kingdom, now.”

“And I thought I was misguided,” Cas forced a wicked smile. “For all your claims to righteousness, you would pass judgment ahead of God’s will if you could. And out of petty vengeance! What would our Father say to that? These two have done nothing. You are not murderers. Let them go.”

“You’re in no position to bargain, heathen.” They all took a step forward in eerie unison.

Castiel backed into them on purpose. “You up to this?” he whispered to Dean.

He inhaled. Slowly and deliberately, he lowered the gun and tucked it into his coat pocket. Then, he suddenly threw one arm around each of them. With a wince, he reached inside himself and unfolded the power that rested here. It stung. It burned him. He’d done it almost automatically before, but now that he knew how—one part from having done it and one part from a brief description Cas provided—it took effort. And it went a lot slower as he progressed through the steps. He fought back a cry of pain. Cas looked up to see the dark outline of his own wings moving—mere seconds before they were in flight.

The angel tried to stay alert this time, to follow where they were going and how Dean was managing to do it—but he couldn’t. The self-operation had removed more than just his wings, and the ability to experience flight at such speeds must have gone with it. Though the time moved a little slower for him than for the brothers, it was just a white blur.

When they arrived, it was in a heap on the floor of an empty, gray room. Dean curled up in a fetal position. He covered his face with both hands, but Cas could still see glinting light in tears at the corners of his eyes. His chest heaved as he pulled oxygen into his lungs, and his whole body shook. Sam reached out for him, but stopped himself. He didn’t think he could help. And the thought that popped into his head—to try and hold him until the pain went away—simultaneously made him feel sick and powerless. Instead, he pulled off his suit jacket, and then the white shirt underneath, which he began ripping up. He set about tying it around Cas’s wound to slow the bleeding.

Feeling lightheaded, Cas lay an unsteady hand on Dean’s forearm. Closing his eyes, he pulled on the well of power deep inside him, and directed it to heal him as much as he could.

A soothing cold flooded into him—numbed him. He’d had a taste before with Cas’s temporary headache cures, but this was so much more. In the moment, nothing hurt. Not the burns and scarring caused by wielding energy he had no business using,  but also not the aches from the hundreds of old injuries he’d collected since he was old enough to start hunting. He let his muscles relax, and his breathing slowed.

But, just as quickly as the pain eased, it came back with a vengeance. He looked up to find Cas taking his hand away. Before he could tell him the job wasn’t done, the angel slumped over, unconscious. He moaned. “Cas?” he managed. “Cas! Damnit, Cas, get up.” His voice strained and cracked. He shook him weakly.

Sam lifted the angel’s head off the ground and checked for a pulse just under his jaw. “He’s alive,” he assured Dean. “I think he’s just out of juice.”

The older hunter reached over and brushed Cas’s cheek with the back of his hand. He shivered as the pain took hold again. Sam covered him with his coat. “Dean, do you know where we are? We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“It’s a—it’s a store. A closed one. I saw it a few days back in Columbus. We’re in Columbus.” He pulled the jacket up to his neck. “It was supposed to be Topeka, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t make it.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said immediately, still cradling Cas’s head is his hands. “I think we got away.”

But he spoke too soon. The sounds of wing beats met their ears, and three of their attackers were in the room with them again. Sam searched Cas for a moment before finding the sword. He pointed it at them. “Stay back,” he ordered. Any sort of defense was entirely up to him. Dean tried to sit up but couldn’t, and Cas was still passed out.

He held no illusions about their chances.

They descended, blocking Sam’s weak attempts easily. He fought as best he could, trying also to protect the others. But they were too strong. To Dean’s horror, one of the swords darted forward, and lodged in his brother’s stomach. Sam froze, dropping the weapon.  Blood poured from around the silvery metal, and the angel holding it smiled viciously. He yanked it out, and Sam doubled over, the light fading from his eyes.

“No!” Dean pleaded from next to him. “No, oh God, Sammy, no.” He crawled the small distance and took hold of him. He frantically pressed at the wound, but nothing he had at his disposal could’ve stopped the bleeding . “No—no, you can’t. No, come on. Stay with me, damnit. You can’t die, Sammy.”

The attackers stood around him and watched. They watched as his little brother bled out onto the off-white linoleum. They watched as he died. As the blood pooled around him, Dean’s clothes soaked it up. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. How could he be dead? He couldn’t. Dean was supposed to protect him, was supposed to save him. That was his job. Sam was his responsibility.

And Cas.

Cas was his responsibility, too. And look at him! He wasn’t moving. He could easily die, as well, even if the bastards didn’t kill him outright. But if they were all going to die, he wanted his share sooner than later. “You fucking cowards better kill me,” he warned with a dark stillness that masked utter rage and heartbreak. “Or God help me, I will hunt down every last one of you, and everyone you ever cared about.”

One of the angels grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him away from Sam. He fought to go back, kicking and sliding in his brother’s blood. The creature tossed him to the other side of the room. When he hit the wall, the bones in his back shattered—and he could no longer feel his legs. He lay a crumpled mess, broken and devastated. With what little strength he had left, he reached into his pocket and produced the Colt, which he brought up to his chin. He stole one last look at Sam’s body and at Cas, who was now in their clutches, before closing his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch them kill the love of his life, too. He didn’t have it in him.

Don’t hesitate, he told himself.

“I would not do that, Dean Winchester,” came a familiar voice out of nowhere.

Coughing up blood, he pried his eyes open again. There, facing away from him, stood Balthazar in the same vessel of the last two visits. The hand that held the pistol shook. He couldn’t keep it raised anymore, and it fell, his knuckles hitting the floor.

“A regular death, I can certainly remedy, but I would not tempt fate with that weapon,” she turned her head a little to grin in his direction. Without facing him, she crouched down and touched his knee. In an instant, everything was like new. His back, his wounds, his damage from the flight—all fixed. That cold feeling touched every cell and dissipated just as quickly, with no physical pain left at all.

Astounded, “And—and you could—my brother—you could—” Healed or not, he didn’t want to live in a world where Sammy was dead.

She stood again, smiling. “I will deal with Sam in a moment. But first,” she glared at the angels, who had stopped mere seconds from killing the unconscious Castiel. “You will go now.”

They laughed. “Balthazar! Bottom of the barrel. Spineless little foot soldier. You’re a weakling! A pathetic dog come to bark for his old master. You would dare challenge us? You would dare defy God? You’ll lose. And you’ll die.”

“Hah, well, I suppose you are right,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out a semi-clear crystal. “But a weakling can do more with one finger than an army of thousands, so long as the finger is on the button of a nuclear weapon. And a dog—a dog with a loud enough bark can deafen any warrior.” She held the rock up and waved it around. “I had some fun getting this one. You should not leave beloved things lying around. They are likely to get lost.”

With a flick of her wrist, all three soldier-angels turned white, crystallized, and dropped to the ground like pouring rock salt. She slipped the weapon back into her pocket—where it disappeared completely, creating no bulge or outline. Strutting across the room, Bal sidestepped the angel remnants and bent down to Sam.

It took a little longer, but he rose with a start, inhaling loudly. He scrambled, confused and frightened for a moment. Running his hands over his stomach, he found blood but no wound to speak of. He looked around with wide eyes and his mouth open. His face calmed eventually when he saw that their attackers were gone, that Balthazar was there, and that his brother was uninjured.

“I died,” he breathed in shock.

Bal’s vessel rolled her eyes. “Oh, really? I had not noticed.” She walked around him to Cas, and with another tap, he woke. When he looked at her, “I told you I would be back.”

Cas took stock of the situation. His gaze eventually settled on the piles of crystallized angel. “Balthazar, you didn’t—”

“Oh, yes, I certainly did. And I saved your ass, so you should not complain in your position.”

“You stole one of the divine weapons!” he protested.

She laughed. “More than one. Try pretty much all of them.”

“Divine weapons?” Dean got up and went over to them. He stopped by Sammy first, got down to his knees, and hugged him. He stayed there for a long time, just relieved his little brother was alive. From the floor, still holding on to him, “What’s a divine weapon?” He stood a few moments later.

“Any weapon the archangels wielded by God’s command,” Cas supplied.

“They do not use them anymore because God commands nothing,” Bal added with a serious tone. “Word on the street is, not even Michael has spoken to our father in hundreds of years. He just says that he does. Our Father is gone, Cas.”

“Not possible,” he dismissed. God couldn’t be gone. He had nowhere to go. He was in everything. He commanded everything, and He was a part of everything. If He spoke to no one else, He would speak to His first son, the archangel Michael.

“No? Do you think they would just tell us if He stopped talking? Do you think we would follow orders that came only from other angels? I know you are more intelligent than that,” she paused, looking the three of them over. “Anyway, Raphael, being the lesser brother, is lax in his duties. He has taken up the helm of squelching the rebellion, and in the process, he left the best weapons unguarded.”

Cas blinked in surprise. “Raphael himself is after me?”

“Yes and no. Most of the subordinates think you are the new Che Guevara, but Raphael, he knows that Rhiannon is pulling the strings, and she is making herself and those who are her allies stronger by the day. His attention lies mostly on her—and I will be in his sights shortly, I have no doubt,” Bal explained. “But he would love to see you dead, as well, and so would she.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Dean cut in. “We got both sides on our asses, now? Oh, that’s awesome, because we’re totally doing fine as it is.” He made no differentiation between Cas being in danger and the three of them being in danger, because there was none, both as a likely outcome and as far as he was concerned.

“No, that is not quite accurate. Rhiannon wants you dead because you know the truth—that she manipulated you and created the war—but the Cause considers you a hero, Cas, and thinks of her as only a strong leader helping them stay organized and fight better. She wishes for your death because members of the rebellion would believe you if you told them the truth. They would turn on her in a second. If you are dead, you cannot speak, however.”

Sam rose to his feet unsteadily. “So, why don’t you just tell them?”

“Eh, sorry. I am more of a free agent than a freedom fighter. Neither side considers me a collaborator, nor would I want them to. The side effect is that they would not believe me if I started running my mouth, and they might even try to kill me. But it is only this way that I can operate unhindered, and when I am finished, I will be stronger even than Raphael.”

“That’s absurd,” Cas replied. “You aren’t—we—we aren’t capable of that. We’re not designed—”

“Do you think that would stop me? I have all the weapons already, Cas. I have help, and soon I will have a new energy source to draw from. And, most importantly, I have the element of surprise. You will see, in time, my friend.”

Energy source? Cas had no idea what Bal meant by that, or who exactly was providing the aforementioned help. But, it didn’t matter. He didn’t even really want to know. “I doubt we’ll live that long. Even if you can hold your own against Raphael, we can’t even stand up against lesser angels. We’re completely vulnerable to attack.”

She laughed. “Cassie! What a pessimist you are! And you never call! I am starting to think you are planning to break up with me.”

“Call? As in, you’ll bust ass down here when we need some help?” Dean surmised.

She clapped her hands. “Your boyfriend is smarter than I thought. Yes, something like that.”

“And we, what, dial your number? One eight-hundred crazy angel chick?”

She chuckled. “Pray, actually. You pray to me.” Then, after a pause, “And you, Dean Winchester, will be nice about it,” she added with a fiery spark in her eye.

Him specifically. Fuck. Bal was going to make Dean be the one to pray if they were in trouble. He guessed it was entirely for her amusement. “You can’t be serious.” He turned to Cas. “She’s not serious.” But his eyes told him she was.

“If an angel’s not in a vessel, it’s the only way a human can make contact,” Cas explained. “And you have to use the name. It doesn’t work if you don’t have a soul, so I can’t do it.”

He didn’t want to pray to anything, let alone this power-hungry so-called “friend” of Cas’s. “And you’ll just drop everything and pop in?”

She smiled. “If it is a life and death situation, and I am not otherwise engaged, yes.” Then, in Mandarin, for Cas’s benefit alone, “ _And it would require a large amount of engagement to prevent me from helping if I am needed._ ”

“Why?” Sam staggered over to them and put one hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady himself. “Why would you help us?”

She acknowledged his question with a subtle nod, as though she expected it. Dark eyes that had been mischievous minutes before were sober now. “The freedom to act is only possible for me because of your rebellion, Cas. In that instant, your decision opened the door for all of us. It may have come from a contrived situation, and perhaps you would not have chosen this if Rhiannon had not intervened, but at the end of the day, it came down to you. And you chose the more difficult option. It was stupid, but heroic.” She picked up Cas’s sword and handed it back to him. “You are not who you were when we fought together, and you are weak, but you are more righteous now. And I have to tell you, I like it.”

Castiel took a step closer to Bal, peering into the vessel at the creature underneath. “You’d have your freedom even if we got killed.”

“True, but that kind of stupidity is worth protecting,” she said simply. “Your humans see this, even if you do not. You will find the truth in that eventually, once your stubbornness is overcome by trust in others.”

“Trust you?” Cas was skeptical.

She smiled. “I do not ask for miracles.” Looking over at Dean, she pursed her lips. She said nothing further, but Dean got the picture. Even if Cas could trust no one else, he could trust Dean. And if he could do that, he could trust his opinion—which was that Cas deserved to be alive, protected, and valued.

When Dean turned to him to explain it, he heard wing beats, and Balthazar was gone.

With the departure, the blood and weapons and crystallized angel disappeared. Only a few telltale signs remained—a hole in Sam’s sleeveless undershirt, scuff marks where Dean’s spine had connected with the wall. Cas’s arm was still bandaged with dress shirt shreds, and the rest of the garment lay abandoned. Sam scooped it up and put it on. To cover the obvious damage, he donned the suit jacket, too, and labored to get the buttons and his tie in order. Cas removed the scraps of cloth. His trenchcoat was ripped, but not a single drop of blood remained.

Dean had no adjustments to make. And he had no energy left. With his head down and a boulder sitting in the pit of his stomach, he headed for the exit. The locked door was hardly a deterrent, and it didn’t take long to hot wire a small turquoise sedan. He pulled the car around front and honked.

The other two appeared quickly at the door. Sam took the usual shotgun position, and Cas filed in behind him. As they drove away, Sam’s gaze stayed on the location until it was out of sight. “It’s a—” his voice trailed off. Then, “A jewelry store. Huh.”

“Abandoned store,” he corrected. “I couldn’t care less what type of store it used to be, just that there wouldn’t be anyone here when we crash landed.” He did care three days ago, however, but he had absolutely no interest in bringing that up, now. There was only one reason someone like Dean would go looking for a jewelry store. But it didn’t matter. He’d gone looking on a whim, and he chickened out the moment he saw his first stop was no longer in business.

“I just thought it was funny,” Sam backpedaled. “We smoked a bunch of angels with a big crystal—in a jewelry store.”

But neither Dean nor Cas laughed. Irritated, “Can we talk about how you died?!” he blurted out, his voice straining. “I mean, fucking hell, Sammy. I watched you—how am I supposed to deal with that?”

The outburst surprised Sam. With the host of emotions running through him, many of which he wished could be surgically removed, Sam found the statements uncomfortable at best. He didn’t know how to take Dean’s protectiveness now. He knew it didn’t come from the kind of love part of him so desperately wanted, but it felt like it. He had to work around that and struggle to maintain self-control.

It took a few tries before he could get any words out. “Dean, I-I’m okay now. Really.”

“You don’t get it,” he shook his head, squinting out at the road. “I thought you were done for.”

It wasn’t exactly a nice vacation for him either, but he did have the luxury of not having to watch the only people he cared about get hurt. “If you could’ve done anything, I know you would have,” he said finally.

Dean didn’t respond.

It was evident to Sam that Dean didn’t want to show just how distraught he still was. And he really would have loved to try and comfort him. Anything to bring that recent string of happiness back. If he had his way, that’s the only emotion his brother would need to have anymore. He’d endured more sadness and anger and pain than any one person should have to bear. “I’m really glad to be back,” he added to fill in the silence. “I guess we kinda owe Balthazar one.”

“How do you go about repaying something like that?” he muttered. Something so easy for the angel meant everything to him.

No one had an answer.


	12. Riders on the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

They were hesitant to work any more cases. Constantly looking over their shoulders, they never spent more than a single night in a given spot, and they burned through gas and money like it was oxygen. It exhausted them, but it was better than being dead, and the fear of a repeat from the store provided more than enough incentive for Dean to keep it up.

A call from an old friend, however, provided a little direction to their wandering.

“Not all of them, but yeah, I got like half a dozen symbols outta the bastard,” he grumbled, taking a drink. “I dunno if it’s enough to ward off a dog, let alone a full-blown angel, but maybe it’ll stir up some memories in that fellow followin’ you around. You never know.”

Dean half-covered the phone and turned to his travel companions. “Up for a visit at Bobby’s? He says he’s got some of those anti-angel signs out of a demon, thinks we might be able to use them.”

“Always,” was Sam’s reply.

Cas sat up, turning the TV off. “He’s like part of your family, right?”

Nodding, “Yeah.”

“He’s kinda like our second dad,” Sam elaborated quietly. “And when we were growing up, he did a lot of the stuff ours didn’t, even though he was a hunter, too.”

Dean had an urge to object, but he suppressed it. Though he wanted to defend their father, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. The statement wasn’t inaccurate. Bobby had been their babysitter on countless occasions, and he’d blatantly refused to treat them like hunters-in-training. He took them to baseball games and even set up a little soccer field for Sam one year. When their father confronted them about it, he actually stood up to him. No one stood up to John Winchester, especially over something seemingly so small, but Bobby did.

Switching back to the call, “We’ll swing by in a couple of days, check it out.”

“And you’re bringin’ the angel with you, right? Never met one before.”

“Yeah,” Dean immediately felt uncomfortable. He fidgeted, pacing around. Bobby would probably find out eventually, but he sure as hell didn’t want to explain it. “He’s pretty much stuck with us.”

“Can’t fly or nothin’? Well, that’s damn inconvenient.”

He stared at his shoes. “We’re managing.” He hadn’t told him about the exchange with Cas—invasive and intimate as it was—either.

“What’s the thing’s name, anyhow?”

Thing. He thought Cas was a thing. “Cas. Castiel.  His name’s Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Bobby repeated. “Doesn’t ring a bell at all.”

“I don’t think he’s in any of the books, official and unofficial. Most of them aren’t,” he cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t be much help, anyway. They got almost everything wrong, seems like.”

“The violent part’s in there,” he pointed out.

Dean glanced over at Cas, who had turned the TV back on. He seemed engrossed in an old rerun of _Law & Order_. Sam followed it, too, though with about half of the interest. “Can’t say I’ve seen much of that with this one,” he explained with extreme caution. “He’s more human than angel most of the time.” He tried to say that last part quiet enough that maybe Cas wouldn’t hear. It was important that Bobby get the point, especially if he ever found out about Dean’s long-term fling with him, but such a statement might actually upset the angel. To be like a human was a weakness, even if, in all likelihood, the fact was what made their relationship possible.

“Well, at least there’s that. Do you trust him, though? It’s still not a human—not really.”

Dean had to remind himself that Bobby didn’t know anything about Cas except what little he’d already told him. “Yeah, I trust him,” he said too quickly. “I mean, he hasn’t given me any reason not to. Why? You worried?”

“Nahh, just makin’ sure. Can’t be too careful. You know the drill.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, get your asses over here pronto. It ain’t smart to be runnin’ around with targets on your heads with nothin’ worth a damn to prevent it.” That sounded more like the old man Dean was accustomed to.

“Yeah. Will do, Bobby.”

He hung up. Setting the phone on a small table, he joined Cas on the bed and stared absently at the television actors’ faces, though he made no attempt to get into the plot. He just wanted an excuse to sit near him.

“I won’t give him a reason to distrust me,” Cas said without turning his attention away from the TV. “And I—I won’t say anything you don’t want me to say.”

Dean’s heart sank. “Just be the way you are,” he advised. “It’s fine, dude.”

“I want him to like me, though.”

“He will,” Dean returned right away.

“You’re sure about that? Most hunters, you know, they wouldn’t—I’m not—” he shut his mouth without finishing his sentence. Nervousness practically dripped off of him like neon-colored sweat in sports drink commercials. 

Dean rested his hand on Cas’s back and rubbed it reassuringly. “Pretty damn sure. And he’s not really like most hunters. He’s like us. You’ll see.”

“I think he will, too,” Sam added from the other side of the room. “Bobby’s really good at reading people. He knows when he’s talking to a good person.”

Cas turned to him with a start. Hearing Sam call him that—the unsolicited compliment served as a giant boost to the angel’s self-esteem. He smiled radiantly, and Sam returned the expression. Dean scoffed, “If this gets any sweeter and mushy, I’m gonna get diabetes.”

Sam threw a pillow at him, and it grazed his head.

The angel laughed, “Sorry.”

Despite bemoaning the moment, it actually came as a huge relief to Dean. Though the two had been getting along in the beginning, more recently it seemed the friendship was strained. He had no idea why or if there was even a reason. It could just be two former strangers forced to live in close quarters getting on each other’s nerves. But the last thing he wanted was the two most important people in his life fighting. He couldn’t handle it when Sam and their father bumped heads, and he couldn’t handle it now, either. It was a nice reprieve that he wouldn’t have that hanging over his head.

***

Castiel had to argue for ten minutes before Dean let him go off on his own. He just wanted to go for a walk. He just needed some time to himself. He was just a little nervous about meeting Bobby tomorrow. Yes, he would take the angel sword. No, he wouldn’t go very far. Yes, he would bring his phone. No, he wouldn’t be gone for long. Yes, of course, he would be careful.

Despite all of that, Dean still didn’t want to let him go. It wasn’t safe. They should stick together.

But Cas insisted, and the hunter eventually relented. He deserved to have space when he needed it. And, anyway, he wanted to make him happy. With a peck on the hunter’s cheek, the angel was out the door and out of sight.

He didn’t walk at a leisurely pace, though, and he had a very specific destination in mind.

The kitschy pagan magic shop stuck out like a sore thumb. It was almost impossible not to notice as they drove by it, what with pentagrams and tapestries and chalices and other assorted items littering every surface behind the front windows. Most of the wood-clad store’s items were purely novelty, or meant for Wiccans who wholeheartedly believed the stuff worked but often didn’t quite have the spells right. When he went in, however, he found that scattered amongst the knock-offs and cheap imports, some of it was very real and could actually be of some use.

He produced a small shopping list from one of his coat pockets and began his search. The easiest to find items were the herbs, which were all neatly labeled, pre-packaged, and hanging on a metal stand. Flax seeds, star anise, coltsfoot leaves, and dried hibiscus flowers. Neroli essential oil was easily found near the register. Finding a black mortar and pestle set took a little longer, as did, surprisingly, finding a pentacle made of wood.

The woman behind the counter—early twenties, purple and black hair, several facial piercings—watched him with curiosity. When he brought the items to the counter, she looked him over. “Uh-anything else I can get for you, sir?”

He peered into the display case, past an old copy of some graphic novel she’d been reading. “Are any of those silver all the way through?” he pointed toward the athames—ceremonial daggers—near the front of the glass.

She grinned, and he saw that she wore braces. “Most of ‘em ain’t even silver on the outside, man.”

“Shit.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What, you actually doin’ a spell?” She smiled. “Never seen anybody who looked like you who was gonna actually do a spell. Most everybody older than me looks like the D&D type, or like a fat Loreena McKennitt. ” Cas had no idea who that was. “Or they’re just here ‘cause they think it’s funny.”

He nodded. “The spell requires a silver knife.”

The girl laughed. “Wait ‘til I tell my boss about you. Damn, you are just her type.” She turned and disappeared behind a curtain. Moments later, she reappeared carrying a reddish wooden box. When she opened it, Cas saw a small, ornate dagger with a leather-coated hilt, nestled in blue silk. “This’ll run you back a shit ton. How bad do you need it?” she asked.

“That’s not a problem,” he said simply. “I also need a lighter.”

Smiling, she reached into the case and set a black Zippo with a skull on it in front of him. He picked it up, but shook his head. Pointing again, “How ‘bout that one?”

She laughed again. “Anime? You’re into anime, too? Please tell me you’re single and not a serial killer.”

The lighter in question was a brightly colored, boxy thing with a shiny finish. It had a cartoon, stylized angel’s wing on the front and 天使—the Japanese word for angel—on the back. There was a similar lighter with one of the words for demons, too.

“Uh, not quite. I just like the design.”

Still beaming, she put it in a bag along with a bottle of lighter fluid, the herbs, and the essential oil. The athame and its case got bubble wrap, as did the mortar and pestle, and each went into a separate bag.

“Okay, then—that’ll be six fifty-nine and seventy cents. You get the butane on the house.”

He hesitated. He knew the brothers didn’t actually check the statements for their illegal credit cards. Hell, the addresses for them were usually abandoned houses scattered across the country. But it felt wrong using the card Dean had given him for something deceptive. Cas didn’t have any other option, though. He found his wallet, opened it, and handed her the card.

She swiped it without looking at the name and handed it back. He picked up the bags and thanked her.

On his way out, her voice stopped him. “You know, my coven meets on Wednesdays in Becker Ridge Park if you’re interested. We get pizza afterwards most of the time.”

He turned and smiled at her. Bowing a little, “Maybe I’ll check it out,” he lied.

“Great!”

Bells chimed on the door as he left.

Cas searched for the better part of an hour, trying to find an abandoned building or any place where he could perform the spell without being bothered. Then, it donned on him. If a bunch of kids could meet and run through the motions on a weekly basis, their chosen location was probably fairly private. He got directions from a gas station attendant and made the slow climb up the town’s steep back roads.

He was out of breath by the time he found the place. And it wasn’t much of a park at all—just a few benches arranged around the base of a nature trail, adjacent to an old, overgrown cemetery for added spookiness.

Near the tree line, he found scorch marks, withered flower petals, and candle wax. A few paces away, he set the purchased items down and got to work. He ground the herbs and poured the oil over them. The knife went to the tip of his thumb, where he pressed it in until a few drops of blood mixed with the oil. He lit an un-smashed leaf with the lighter and dropped it on the rest.

“It must be my birthday,” said a voice from behind him.

“Crowley,” he acknowledged without turning.

With his hands in his pockets, the demon walked leisurely into view. “You know, I do have a mobile. If you wanted to chat me up, there are more modern ways, yeah?” Then, his face changed. “What do you want?”

He rose to his feet and brushed himself off. “I want the deal.”

Crowley faked surprise. “Oh, do you, now? Did you and lover boy get in a tiff?” When he glared at him, “Sure, yeah, we can do that—but you know how these things go, the offer’s changed.”

“Changed how?” he tried to reign in his anger.

The demon moved in closer. “It’s five years, now, and I’m upping the quota by ten percent.”

“No,” he growled.

“Listen here, halfbreed. I’ve got literally thousands of better things to do. You want my help or not?”

Cas clenched his teeth. “Eight years.”

“Five.”

“Eight, or I tell the Winchesters how to summon you,” he threatened.

Crowley smiled wickedly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, angel.” Tilting his head a little, he studied Cas’s stern expression. “All right. Eight.”

Gulping, Cas focused on a point past him in the forest. “It won’t hurt him?”

“Might sting a little, but not half as bad as fluttering around. No permanent damage. You have my word.” He ran a finger down Cas’s tie. “Tell you what, mate. Deal’s off if I can’t fetch it without hurting your boyfriend. I’m always up for a challenge.”

After a long time to think it over, all while under Crowley’s excruciatingly close watch, Cas gave a single nod. “Okay. Yeah, I agree.”

When he didn’t immediately move, “You know how this works, don’t you?” He tilted his head upward at Cas and let his mouth hang open, licking his lips. “This is the fun part, love.”

Castiel felt like fleeing. This was wrong, he told himself. Dean and Sam would disown him if they knew what he was doing. They would have every right to. But each day he lived split up into pieces felt like agony. And, worse yet, his mere association with them put them in danger by the minute. He’d even gotten Sam killed. He had no great defense against the onslaught, and he had no way to defend them.

Until now. As a full angel, he would be able to protect them, to fight off and elude their attackers.

He swallowed his fears and indecision—and kissed him. Crowley didn’t go easy. He grabbed Cas by the back of his neck forcefully and shoved his tongue into the angel’s mouth. He tasted like liquor and tobacco ash. Cas closed his eyes and did as little as possible.

After a few repulsive moments, he could feel a pull on the energy inside him. He let out a sound of surprise that was muffled by the demon’s intrusion. Crowley took hold of him by the shoulders and pressed into him. Inside himself, Cas could feel his body being modified, being altered. And the energy that made him up seemed to disconnect a little, to grow in power—

—and it screeched to a halt. Everything went back to the way it was. Everything stopped. He was still weak. He was still trapped.

Angry, he pushed Crowley off of him. “What trick is this?!” he yelled. “You unholy—”

“Oh, calm down,” he snarled. “It’s not my fault, is it?”

“What?”

“Damned if I understand it, but your property isn’t yours anymore, sweetie.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I can’t touch it. I can’t even get fucking get near it! Your boy would have to consent first. He might even have to call me himself.”

“Dean’ll never do that.”

“So, the deal’s off, then,” he looked almost downtrodden, and very disappointed. His eyes danced across the landscape around them as he lost himself in thought. After a long silence, “Or, I offer a new one.”

“You have nothing I want,” Cas said bluntly.

Crowley shrugged. “Well, I can’t get your wings back, true. But I can give you the types of things you would have—protection, safety—and not just for you, lad, but your friends, as well.”

“And how many souls would I have to corrupt for that?”

“None,” he smiled, and for a brief moment it looked nearly human. “No moonlighting. No crossroads deals.”

“Then what?”

“I need an assistant. A colleague. A right-hand man. Get me? I need a bloke to bring along to meetings and generally keep me entertained.” He sidled in close again. “And what you get out of it, other than superb company, is protection. While you’re with me, you won’t be harmed. First sign of trouble, and I buzz the both of us down to the Caymans.” His finger returned, tracing the lines of his jacket. It found its way inside the slash from the fight and grazed his shirt before moving across his back. “And with you hard to pin down, your old pals won’t go after your new pals. As an added bonus, I can put a few of my employees on Winchester-protection duty. You know, just to make sure.”

Cas snorted. “You can’t guarantee their safety, and that’s only one of my problems.”

Crowley halted his circling near the angel’s left shoulder. He placed both palms on it and scrutinized the space between them. Cas froze in place. “Your friends put themselves in danger for a living, I can’t help that, but I can return them to a level of trouble they’re more used to, and I can make sure they don’t catch any hellfire along the way, right?” His mouth moved to that space and rested there. Speaking into the fabric, “And I can help with that ache, too.”

Not possible. He glanced back at the demon. “You have no idea what this is. What it means. How would you even come close?”

“You won’t have time to sit around and dwell on it for one thing,” he breathed, “and I’m positive I can—keep you occupied.” He reached under Cas’s arm and gradually brought his hand up to the angel’s chest. “What’s more, I’ve got you figured out. Yeah. I know what you are, and not only do I not give a damn—not at all—I acknowledge that it makes you one-of-a-kind. You’re unique, and you’re rare. You’re in demand. And you should be treated accordingly. Valued. So, what do you say, huh? Come with me, Castiel. Join the A-Team.”

Cas swallowed in discomfort. He took a step forward to release himself form Crowley’s grasp. “You treat people like property. Even in describing me, I’m something for you to own,” he turned and glared at him. “Regardless of the terms. Regardless of the supposed freedoms I might have or the luxuries. I’d still be property to you. And people throw away property when it’s no longer any use to them.”

“People get thrown away, too,” he pointed out. “Accidentally or on purpose, sooner or later, your human friends will leave you. If an angel or a monster doesn’t get ‘em, old age will. Time will. And they’ll go off to Heaven—but you won’t. Even if you die, wherever it is you go, it won’t be back there. I don’t think you’re welcome there anymore, are you, love?”

He kept his face emotionless, but inside he was screaming. He knew what he had with Dean was temporary, to be brutally honest, but he wanted to pretend it wasn’t. “I won’t betray him.” Singular. Dean Winchester. The hunter. The emotional wreck. The barely-holding-it-together selfless hero with daddy issues and a lovesick brother. This decision wouldn’t be a betrayal to Sam, but it would be to him. And while getting left behind accidentally was a real possibility, Cas knew—he believed—that Dean would not grow tired of him and just discard him. The demon might. Moreover, Crowley was no hero, no anything. He was just a creature with a lot of power that had something he wanted in his sights.

“Now, you’re having a moral problem?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already said yes to me once, nearly twice. If it’s fear of judgment, you would not have to worry about that with me, mate.”

“It’s not something you would understand—which is part of the problem. It’ll never be perfect, but it’s better than anything you can offer me. No. My answer is no. It will always be no.”

Crowley sighed. “This is the part where I take the offer back and fuck off to another conquest.” He walked over to the summoning items and snatched up Cas’s athame. Pondering it for a moment, he eventually handed it to him. “But I loathe being predictable. I really do. Fucking despise it. And, believe it or not, I’m patient. So, I’m gonna leave the offer open. As-is. No interest. No changes. No fine print. When you get left out in the cold, yeah? You give me a call.”

“You actually think I will.” Cas had to believe it would never happen. He did believe it.

“Odds are in my favor.” Crowley laughed, took a long look at the angel, and vanished.

Cas stood in silence for a long time. He tucked the knife into his coat, where it clicked against the lighter. Unable to explain the herbs or mortar and pestle, he decided to leave them under a bench. The Wiccans would probably enjoy the free offerings, anyway.

He descended from the ridge gradually. About halfway down, he noticed an object in his pocket: the wooden pentacle from the shop. He hadn’t paid for it, or used it in the ceremony. He’d just slipped it in there and forgotten about it. But the spell required it. It was a pivotal part. If everything else was the call itself and the routing, the bowl was the phone’s base, and the pentacle was the microphone. Without the mic—how could the call go through?

He had no idea. It shouldn’t have worked.

Then maybe it didn’t. Without being his full self, he might never know if the demon kept tabs on him. Seeing him go through the motions of the spell, Crowley could have just revealed himself at the appropriate time. No need for the magic.

But if that was true, it meant the demon had a reason to devote so much of his time to Castiel. It didn’t come as much of a surprise considering how eagerly he wanted to make a deal—and how fervently he wanted Cas in general.  But all sorts of people found Cas sexually appealing. He’d made a living off of it. Toss a coin in the air, and half the time the people he met with or spoke to would feel something right off the bat. All he had to do was smile, and look them in the eye. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. He was used to it, and as a human, he even expected it.

Only one person, however, was in love with him. Crowley probably wasn’t even capable of that. And Dean—he meant the absolute world to him. He was everything. Cas felt like he would walk through fire for him, but here he was, lying to him so he could fuck around with a demon. A demon who had the hots for him! What kind of partner—lover— _friend_ —was he to do that? Guilt flooded over him. It filled his lungs like icy water and suffocated him.

As he reached the main street and eyed the small inn where the Winchesters waited, he decided it wasn’t enough simply to never do anything like this again. He would confess, own up to it. Dean would be angry. He deserved to be. And he might even—he might even want Cas to leave. But it was a risk he had to take. If Dean really did trust him, or ever was going to, he had to tell the truth. He had to.


	13. Little Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

He crept inside. The main area held no occupants, but he heard the shower running. The door was open about an inch, but he didn’t look in, for fear of catching the wrong brother mid-lather. “Dean?” he called out just loud enough to be heard. “Is that you?”

After a moment, “Yeah. In here.” He heard the shower shut off. With a few sounds of slippery footsteps, the hunter appeared at the door, wearing a dark green towel. He wiped the water from his face. At first he seemed a bit annoyed, but he warmed up quickly. “Sam went off on his own. Shouldn’t be back for at least an hour or so.” He motioned with his head behind him. “Wouldn’t mind some company if you’re up to it.” He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t help but smile crookedly.

Cas bit into his lower lip. He removed his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Walking over, he had to fight to make eye contact. His heart raced, despite all attempts to control it. “Actually,” he could feel his face getting hot, “I think maybe we should talk.”

Dean blinked. “What happened?” His expression was of someone who expected things to go wrong. He leaned against the frame of the door. The towel slipped a little, but he caught it and pulled it up to his navel. His eyes shadowed with fear of what it could be that Cas had to tell him. And he imagined the worst—that Cas wanted to break it off or leave—or he was secretly dying or something equally devastating.

“I-uh,” he stalled, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds. Nervously, he picked at a loose thread on the side of his pants leg. “I did something stupid. It’s-uh—nothing happened—but it could have, and I-I shouldn’t’ve. It was really stupid.”

“Dude, just tell me,” he stared at him with grave seriousness. “You’re killin’ me. What the hell happened? What’d you do?”

He had to look away. “I summoned Crowley. And I told him I wanted the deal,” he stammered.

Dean inhaled sharply. With a calm that did nothing to mask his anger and disappointment, “And he told you he was fresh out? I mean, I still got your jetpack,” his voice cracked on the last word, “burning a hole in my gut.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” his brow furrowed, “but no. He offered it with fewer years of freedom, and I took it, anyway. But it didn’t work,” he sobbed. “He-he couldn’t do it. All that, and he couldn’t fucking do it. I’m so sorry.”

“Huh.” He straightened his back. “Any reason why?”

“You’d have to consent.”

The human ran a hand through his wet hair, face pointed to the floor. “Okay. Fine. Call him back. I’ll do it.”

Cas shook his head. “No. No, I couldn’t.”

“Well, why the fuck not? You wanna throw yourself away, become a monster,” his voice oozed with rage and hurt. “You wanna kill everything about you that has any value at all—then I sure as hell don’t want any part of you in me, touching me, or associated with me.”

He let Dean’s words dig in as deep as they would go. He deserved it, he told himself. “I-I don’t. I don’t want that. I just—” He sniffed. “Dean, I have only loose memories of making decisions. Of choosing the right path. But I have thousands of years of making no choices at all—and I fucked it up. I’m weak, and I’m stupid. And it’s okay if you never forgive me—but I want to be what you need—and I know I’ve got it in here somewhere,” he reached inside his shirt and let his fingers rest on his heart. “I just thought I—I can’t protect you, and I can’t see a light at the end of this, for either of us. I see nothing but pain here, and I’m the one causing it. But I would go back if I could.”

“Well, you can’t,” he retorted. “Shit happens, and all you can do is deal with it, own up to your part, and try and make it better. And you can’t just take the fucking easy way out, because it only ends up being easy for you, and it screws over everyone else.”

The muscles in his neck and stomach visibly hardened as he continued. “I mean, damnit, you just made me into a fucking liar. Do you know that, you sonuva bitch? I told Bobby—I told him I could trust you. I don’t trust people easy, and when I do, they’re usually fucking human! But how can I trust you now? And worse yet, you don’t even know the half of it. If you’d been able to—if that deal had gone through—we’d end up on opposite sides of this thing. If I didn’t know you, if I didn’t love you, I would wanna hunt you. Cas, I would have to!”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking—at all,” was all he could say.

“How could you make me do that? How could you put that on me, man? You think I could handle it—havin’ to make that decision? Because I don’t think I could. I’d rather be dead, Cas.” He pressed his head into the frame, squeezing his eyes shut.

Cas felt small. “I-I don’t think I should get my power back.”

He shot him a questioning look and crossed about half the distance between them. He slumped onto the opposite bed, letting his hands fall to his lap. “Why’s that?”

“It’s safer with you. And I trust you more than I trust myself.”

Dean exhaled. He put his head in his hands out of exasperation. “God damnit.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are. Fuck, I should be more pissed at you than I am about this. I mean, I’m mad, but I should be fucking furious. You lied, and you were ready to—but I guess we’re both idiots.” He finally looked at him, and the skin around his eyes was red.

When he motioned for Cas to come toward him, the angel jumped at the chance. He opted for a more subservient approach than Dean anticipated, though. Guilt and the man’s reaction literally brought him to his knees. He draped his arms across the hunter’s knees and rested his head on the his leg.

“I already forgive you. Mostly,” he whispered, running his fingers through Cas’s hair. As the angel held onto him, practically for his life, even more of that frustration and anger dispersed, leaving only smoldering embers deep down. A sense that Cas was so devastated, so much in pain, the he was willing to do anything to fix it—even if it meant destroying what they had. That kind of motivation made him dangerous, made him hard to trust. And Dean felt tricked a little. He’d let his guard down so quickly, and if he wasn’t careful, he might do it again.

But at the same time, even though it felt like pure idiocy, he couldn’t stop himself. When it came to Cas, Dean didn’t really have any control at all. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay angry with him or hold a grudge for long—just as he didn’t seem to mind that Cas wasn’t actually human. Logic said that Castiel presented a danger not only to Dean but also his brother, but his gut and his heart couldn’t care less. And so he did foolish things like trusting and forgiving.

“What am I doing?” he muttered.

Cas unfocused his eyes. “I don’t know if I can make this up to you,” he explained, “but if I figure out a way, I’m gonna do it.”

He thought about it before forming an answer. “Just-uh, just promise the next time I tell you something’s a bad idea, you’ll listen to me. If your judgment isn’t up to par—and it isn’t, dude—then you use mine. You understand me? Next time. Every time. And I know it hurts. I know you’re hurting, and I can’t make it better. But we can’t do this again.”

Cas nodded. “I promise.”

***

It was a rainy midmorning when they pulled up to the property. Bobby Singer’s “day job” was as a mechanic, and so his few acres, fenced in and locked down, were a veritable maze of rusted car frames and parts. Having this kind of front provided a convenient excuse for him to keep his own hours, stay in his fortress when he needed to, and leave for long periods of time without anyone really noticing. The junk also hid the additions he’d put in: extra escape routes, dozens of devil’s traps, an everything-proof safe room in the basement, and a few other useful things even the Winchesters hadn’t discovered yet.

The Chevy snaked carefully between the towers of metal before coming to a stop in front of the house. On the outside, it looked in disrepair, as though it had once been a simple and normal rural home, fit for a family. Now, the paint was peeling and some of the windows were cracked. Signs of additions were clearly visible, nonetheless, with a new, much sturdier door being the most obvious example.

The three got out. They climbed onto the deck and knocked. “Hey, Bobby, open up,” Dean called inside.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” came the muffled response.

A series of four or five locks clicked and scratched before the door swung open. There, on the other side, stood a bearded man well into his fifties or older. He wore flannel and a mesh baseball hat so dirty and worn that the wording on the front couldn’t be deciphered. He looked like he might be more at home on a farm than on a hunt for monsters.

He barely seemed to notice the Winchesters, and he only acknowledged them with a look. His attention focused immediately on Castiel, who stood sheepishly near the porch’s edge. The wood creaked as he walked toward the angel, studying every inch of him with suspicion. Warily, he pulled up Cas’s jacket to look inside for a weapon. The angel sword hung out of view by his leg on the other side, however, and he didn’t feel compelled to point it out. In fact, he couldn’t even say anything. He didn’t know what words to use. He was terrified he would screw it up.

Bobby adjusted his hat. “Well, come in, then,” he ordered, turning on one heel and disappearing into the house. Sam followed quickly. Cas kept close, and Dean shuffled in behind. His mind was still engrossed and caught up in the conversation from the night before, and it had been all morning. So, he wasn’t paying much attention when he smacked right into a brick wall and fell on his ass.

Confused and disoriented, Dean sat there on the deck, staring at the open doorway. How could he have missed the opening? He groaned and got up stiffly. Walking slowly back to the door, he put both hands on the frame and walked in—

—Or that was the idea. He pressed forward, but couldn’t get though. Something stopped him. He couldn’t see anything. But plain as day, a force or some sort of invisible wall stood between him and the inside of the house. Cas and Sam had walked through just fine, but he couldn’t.

“Oh, what the hell,” he kicked at the space, to no avail. “Bobby, what the fuck?”

Cas swiveled and hurried back to him. On the ceiling and wall above the door were Enochian warding symbols, which glowed neon blue to the angel’s inner sight. He frowned. “You have more of me than I thought,” he mumbled, stifling an urge to get upset.

Dean stared at him with wide eyes. “You mean—this is the—the stuff we would use to keep angels off our asses—it fucking works on me?! And it doesn’t work on you?!”

Nodding, “Whatever part of me that these ward off, I don’t have it anymore.”

His tone sobered the hunter. He made to reach out for him, only to remember he physically couldn’t. After a moment to regain composure, Cas pulled over a chair, took up a small silver knife Dean had never seen before, and scratched at the markings with it. The barricade diffused, and Dean could finally walk through.

“Mind telling me what the hell is goin’ on?” came Bobby’s voice from down the hall. He pointed a shotgun at the both of them. “Whichever of your friends is in Dean’s body, it best get out of there right quick before I fill you full of buckshot. It might not hurt a full angel, but it’ll sure as hell do you some damage, you conniving piece of horseshit.”

“Wait, Bobby,” Dean threw his hands in the air. “Wait, it’s not—I’m still me. I’m me.”

“Don’t bullshit me, boy. Angels can’t cross those marks.”

“Hold on a sec, Bobby,” Sam chimed in from behind him. “Dean, uh, he’s got some of Castiel’s extra power in him, but it’s still Dean. Cas couldn’t hang around without putting a chunk of energy somewhere, so that’s where it went. Dude, show him one of the scars. He kinda just dumped it in through his arms. Right, Dean? It was pretty epic.” That was the story he was willing to go with.

Dean appreciated the discretion. He took off his jacket and pulled up his t-shirt sleeve. With some twisting, the handprint-shaped scar came into view.

“That would be healed,” Cas supplied quietly. “Angels heal their vessels fully. Dean doesn’t have that ability.”

The barrel of Bobby’s shotgun slowly pointed downward. His eyes narrowed. “You idjits didn’t think it might be relevant or important to mention that? I damn near shot you, you jackasses.”

Dean put his hands down. “We don’t really have a handle on what it does,” he explained. Except a one-way flight to a migraine.

“Let me guess, not a whole lot that’s even halfway useful?”

“That’s about right.”

He sighed. Swinging the gun over his shoulder, the older man waded deeper to the house, leaving them to stand awkwardly near the entrance. Sam took a long look at his brother, who immediately felt self-conscious. It was as though Sam thought that if he just looked long enough, he would be able to see the angelic part of him. When he found nothing, however, he broke the gaze and followed Bobby into the next room.

“I wonder if they’ll ever stop looking at me like that,” he said only loud enough for Cas to hear. “Like I’m a freak.”

“Give it time. It’s all pretty new to them. Mostly, hunters don’t even think angels exist until they meet one—and if it helps, I won’t stare at you. Well, not for that reason.” He leaned to one side to noticeably have a look at Dean’s rear end. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to get an even better view.

Dean blushed. “Hey, cool it.” The last thing he needed was to have to explain their relationship to Bobby, too. At least not right now—not with him and possibly Sam, as well, already thinking he’d been corrupted by angels.

Grinning, “Just trying to cheer you up.”

“Later.”


	14. No Leaf Clover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

It rained nonstop for days. Cas kept his distance as the brothers conferred with Bobby over the various Enochian symbols he’d collected, including a tome filled with them. The angel only put in his two cents when asked, and even then, he didn’t think he was very helpful. Many of the words and phrases were familiar, but he wasn’t certain which combinations would prove most effective. Though it hurt him to admit, some of it looked completely alien, with an even larger chunk causing enough uncertainty to make him wary of telling them to use it.

He folded his arms across his chest and turned his attention to a window near his left. Water hit the glass, and the sound helped calm him down a little. “I don’t know,” he grumbled in frustration. Around Bobby, he decided to use the less human-sounding voice he reserved for other angels. It probably didn’t promote him being considered safe and trustworthy, but it helped Bobby differentiate Cas from the older Winchester in his mind. Angels weren’t like humans, his approach implied. So what if one human had a little angel in him? He was still human. He _sounded_ human. If speaking in a rough and stoic manner aided Dean, he was happy to do it.

They put their own relationship on ice, meanwhile, at least when Bobby was looking. The house was big enough for each of them to have separate rooms, a fact for which Sam was extremely grateful. But in a perfect world, the couple, of course, wouldn’t have minded a shared room.

For two nights, they reluctantly kept the arrangement for sake of keeping their relationship a secret from Bobby.

Last night, however, Dean’d appeared at Cas’s door around midnight, and without a word, beckoned for the angel to join him across the hall. They didn’t risk anything that might make noise, but that wasn’t the point, anyway. With Sam around, they never slept in the same bed. Not once. Closest they’d come to it was napping in the back of Dean’s car.

But they wanted the real thing. It was a little slice of normal—or at least what other couples considered normal—and they’d both been craving it. They certainly would’ve loved to get even closer first, but it wasn’t worth what might happen if Bobby woke up and decided to investigate.

So, they’d spent the night literally sleeping together. Cas didn’t snore and could make himself fall asleep on cue. Simply finding a position that wasn’t uncomfortable proved to be the only deterrent, and soon enough they were both out, shirtless and lying in each other’s arms.

The next morning, they awoke without incident. Bobby was a drinker and a late riser. Sam was up, but he said nothing. In an attempt to mask the truth just in case, Dean took a shower while Cas appeared sleepy-eyed downstairs. The younger hunter easily surmised they’d spent the night together, however, and acknowledged him with a knowing smile. It didn’t really matter. Sam already knew, and Cas doubted he would tell Bobby.

The undisturbed good slumber had brightened both their moods. When faced with not being able to help their deciphering, Castiel clung to the night to help center himself.

He turned back to the book. Pointing, “That one’s no good—all these. It’s directions angels need to get around in the dimension they—we—would use to fly. The dimension is mostly empty, but it’s too thin in places to traverse. The directions tell you how to avoid those places. I’m not sure what they all say, but these are like that first one, and that’s the beginning.” He felt stupid having to explain it like that. He also sounded more human than he wanted to. Trying to fix it, “Where did you get a book like this?”

Bobby shrugged. “It’s the damnedest thing. I had it the whole time, I just didn’t know what the hell it was. Picked it up in a garage sale about a decade ago. It looked _off_ —like our kind of off—but nobody I showed it to could make heads or tails of it. But when I got a handful of that chicken scratch, I knew it looked familiar.”

“Think you would recognize a name? It looked like it was signed on the inside cover,” Sam took the thing and flipped it to the first page.

Cas took a close look. The ornate and intricate angelic name was quite familiar. “You shouldn’t have this,” he warned, backing away from it.

“What? What’s wrong?” Dean let his concern show through.

“It belongs to an archangel,” he could barely get the words out. “It’s a journal. And nothing you’ve protected this house with so far will keep him out if he realizes you have it.”

Dean stepped between him and the book. “You mean Raphael? This is Raphael’s diary?”

Shaking his head, Cas reached for the thing and closed it as a precaution. “No, his younger brother. But he wields unbelievable power, and he is far less predictable. They do not even speak his name in the Kingdom any longer, but I would recognize it anywhere. It was one of the first words I learned.”

Taken aback, Dean stared vacantly across the space between them. If he had to learn names, then he had some sort of angel childhood, too, right? Or at least, he was created with no or little knowledge innate and still had to be taught. Which meant there were teachers? He’d never thought about it before, and though he didn’t have much time to dwell on it now, he vowed to himself to ask Cas about it some time when they were alone.

“Well, spit it out. Who the hell owns this thing?” Bobby pressed.

Castiel picked up the book and pressed it against his chest. “I don’t dare say it aloud. He will hear!” He fought to maintain his tough attitude—something he never would’ve needed to do as a full angel—but he was terrified, and everyone knew it. “He could kill us all, and he’d be disappointed we made it so easy.”

Bobby blinked slowly. Taking off his hat, he smoothed back what was left of his hair before donning it again. “Aren’t you a ray of damned sunshine!” he spat. Turning to the brothers, “Fuck, is he always like this?”

Stifling a laugh, Sam answered for them. “Now and then. He probably, you know, just needs to get laid—or something.”

Mortified, Dean glared at him. But he turned away just as quickly. What his brother said did enough damage. Having a reaction to it would’ve been worse. Keeping their relationship a secret was more difficult than he’d expected. The short stints he’d attempted it felt like torture. How could people keep it up for longer?

He thought about making a joke—maybe asking if angels even had sex—but he stopped himself. He wasn’t that vindictive, and, anyway, he cared about Cas too much to do that. He hoped one day they would be comfortable enough around each other that he could tease him without agonizing about the consequences, but that time hadn’t come, yet. And this wouldn’t be teasing. It would be covering his own ass because he was too much of a coward to tell Bobby the truth.

Alternatively, “We’re all a little stressed out.”

Sam could see Dean was anxious, if not pissed. He hadn’t meant anything mean-spirited by it, not really. He just wanted to lighten the mood. “Uh, just a little,” he added sarcastically.

With the book still cradled in his grasp, Cas sat down behind Bobby’s desk.

“Stop me if I’m missin’ somethin’, but how does an archangel—hell, any angel—lose a journal full’a secrets? A damn holy how-to manual? And what’s he need with one, anyway? All-powerful wrath of God creature don’t exactly gotta remember how to work a microwave, does he?” Bobby grabbed a cup from a small cabinet and a bottle made of thick green glass. Uncorking it, he poured, but found only a few drops left. He brought the drink to his lips, nonetheless, and downed the remnants before setting both items back down.

“I don’t know,” Cas moved the book a few inches so he could study the cover. “He could’ve given it to someone, and that person died or lost it. Or maybe he just wanted to see how much chaos it would cause.”

Sam moved into the angel’s view. “Is that something archangels like to do? Cause chaos? I thought they were the hands of God.”

Cas scoffed. “They’re supposed to be. But of the four, one is aloof—almost as much as our Father—where he should instead rule the others with His blessing. One is locked away in Hell, one has failed at his only remaining duty, and the last has left the Kingdom entirely. Whether they meant to or not, chaos is all they make.” Not that he’d done much better, he finished silently.

“The last one. The kid? He’s just walking around on earth? No big deal?” Dean asked, disheartened.

“Yes. He’s too powerful to be found or stopped—by anyone, except the other archangels, who didn’t go look for him. The official word was that God commanded Raphael and Michael not to go, and Lucifer couldn’t. But I think there was a fight. That was the rumor.”

Sam shrugged. Family fighting, and the youngest brother splits? That sounded familiar. He wasn’t necessarily excited to compare himself to an omnipotent amoral creature, but when the situation came down to it, if Cas was right, he could relate.

“Well, I’ve had my fill of heavenly gossip for the day,” Bobby cut in. “And there’s not nearly enough booze in this house. I’m gonna make a run, any of you want anything?”

They collectively shook their heads.

When the old hunter got to the door and opened it, however, he stepped back. “Balls!” they heard from the hallway. After a pause, “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say this young lady starin’ me down from the front yard ain’t havin’ car trouble.”

Cas called up his real sight—and it lit up like the whole side of the house was on fire. He jumped to his feet and slammed the book down. Flying past the Winchesters to the front door, he stole a glimpse at the figure. She stood motionless in the downpour. Her long red hair was drenched, as was her simple clothing—jeans and a khaki jacket too light for the cold. Her eyes, round and burning white behind the pupils, pierced through the rain in their direction.

He yanked the hunter away from the doorway by the back of his heavy vest and flung the door closed.

Bobby reeled around and almost hit Cas square in the chin, but he stopped just in time. “Boy, what are you doing?!”

“We need to protect this house more thoroughly,” Castiel returned. “Symbols in every room. All the walls that touch the outside frame, all the ceilings on the top floor. The basement. The doors. They must be working, or she would be inside already, but she will find a way if we don’t make sure.”

Gulping, Bobby nodded. He walked swiftly back into the room with the office and cleared his throat. “Uh, Sam, you got those symbols handy? We gotta paint ‘em, well, damn near everywhere.”

“Right here,” he held up a piece of paper where Bobby had scribbled them down. “Just tell us where you need them.”

As they headed for Bobby’s supply of paints, Cas stopped Dean with one hand on his chest. He removed it just as quickly so as to not raise any suspicions. “You can’t help, Dean. You physically can’t. I’m sorry. You have to sit this one out.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, of course. Being in the same room with some of those angel hieroglyphs makes me wanna jump out of my skin. Because that’s normal.” Downtrodden and frustrated, he found his way to a couch and dumped himself onto it. “This means I won’t be able to leave without you letting me out, right? I’m a prisoner!”

Sam climbed the stairs with two cans of paint and some brushes, and Bobby began collecting some supplies for himself and Cas. The angel resisted the urge to go over and touch him. He wanted so badly to just put his hand on his cheek or embrace him or something, anything to try and make him feel less alone, less trapped. “We’re all stuck here,” he said eventually. “Rhiannon will not let us leave.”

When Bobby handed Castiel the necessary equipment, Cas gave Dean a long, sympathetic glance, before heading upstairs with the others.

They painted for hours, and locked every possible entrance, just as an added precaution. Sam eventually took basement detail, and spent a long time angel-proofing the old man’s salt-coated iron safe room. Cas handled the bedrooms and hallways, while Bobby ended up in the attic to put the finishing touches on his earlier work there.

A muffled scream from above startled Castiel, and he dropped his can of orange paint all over one of the beds and carpet beneath. He ran as fast as he could, scaling the rickety ladder upwards. With his sword in hand, he burst into the space, and caught Rhiannon off guard. She retreated back into a corner, where no symbols had yet been painted. On the floor, in a crumpled heap, lay what was left of the aging hunter. She’d broken many of his bones, and blood poured from his ears and nose. The internal damage must have been massive. He would die soon if he didn’t get help.

Cas stepped forward gradually. Most of the room was covered in Enochian, but Bobby had gotten an accent on one of the words wrong in the original attempt, and he’d merely copied it without checking. Still, it must have been excruciating for Rhiannon to be in the room with that much warding magic, even for a creature as strong as her.

“I bet it’s starting to hurt you,” he growled, taking another step. “Not like you hurt him, though.”

“Castiel,” she snarled. “You should be dead.”

He reached deep inside himself and located a scrap of courage from his days as a soldier, and a torrent of human confidence came with it. “You should be thanking me.” He stepped over Bobby, who writhed in an attempt to grab hold of his leg. He sidestepped it. He couldn’t attend to him now, not with Rhiannon in the same room, and he didn’t have the strength on his own.

“Why? Because you were a fool? You mutilated and defiled yourself in the name of disobeying God, but you still like to pretend you’re righteous. You’re a hypocrite, Castiel. And it’s obvious. It’s always been obvious. I just had to wait.”

He pulled out his cellphone and punched in some numbers. In a calm voice, “Last time I checked, waiting didn’t mean killing innocent people.” Pressing the send button, he brought the phone up to his ear.

Dean answered on the second ring, “Cas? What’s wrong?”

“I need you to pray.”

“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why? No. Not happening.”

“Your friend Bobby isn’t going to live much longer, Dean. We’re in the attic with our visitor. Do it quickly,” he ordered. He hung up and stepped forward, pointing the sword at her. His knife replaced the phone in his other hand. Hoping Dean would follow through, he scratched at a couple of the symbols to make a hole big enough for another occupant.

Downstairs, Dean swallowed his pride. At least no one was around to see him. “Hey, uh, Balthazar? God damnit. Umm, hey, man, we could really use your help down here. Bobby—a good friend of ours—he’s hurt bad, and that chick—fuck, what was her name? Anna? That manipulative  little—well, she’s here, in the attic, and she’s got us on lockdown, and she hurt him. We’re next, Balthazar. Cas is up there. Please help. Can you help us? C’mon, Balthazar. I’m serious. Please.”

“Fuck!” a voice shouted in Cas’s ear from just behind him. “Do you mind getting rid of those?” she gestured wildly at the symbols.  Castiel acquiesced, turning away from Rhiannon to scratch at as many of the nearby symbols as he could easily reach. Bal kept a wary eye on the attacker.  “You have overstayed your welcome,” the vessel’s accent was still very pronounced. “Leave.”

Rhiannon focused on the newcomer. “Both of you will die within the week. I’ll make sure of it.”

“That’s kinda mean, don’t cha think?” came a new voice from the opposite end of the room. “No, I don’t think you’re gonna do that, honey. Sorry.”

Cas hadn’t heard any footsteps or creaking. And it most certainly wasn’t a Winchester. He spun around on one heel to see the newcomer—and immediately felt lightheaded. There, standing with a relaxed pose and a grin on his face, stood the most power creature Cas had ever seen. He didn’t dare try and look at him with his other vision, for fear of blinding himself.  But he didn’t need to. He knew already exactly who it was. Pure instinct told him. The answer was woven into the fabric of energy that made him up.

He dropped to his knees next to the now lifeless body of Bobby Singer. Averting his eyes and bowing his head, Cas tried to make himself as small and meek as possible. “Gabriel,” he addressed him humbly, “Forgive me.”

The archangel raised an eyebrow impishly. “You’re actually bowing?” he laughed. “That’s—wow. That’s adorable.”

Balthazar’s vessel looked over her shoulder but didn’t move otherwise. “Yes, he does that now.”

He heard wing beats as Rhiannon tried to leave, but it didn’t seem to work, as he could still sense her in the corner. She pressed herself against the wall, as though she might try to physically break open a hole in order to escape.

“Chhh, I can’t really let you leave, either,” he feigned an apologetic look and walked leisurely past Cas, the likely dead human body, and a strangely calm Balthazar. He stopped about a foot away from the lesser angel, who tried and failed to avoid cowering in his presence.

“We’re the same,” she kept her eyes fixed on him, too afraid to even blink. “You rebelled, too. You left. My crimes are as much your own.”

Gabriel wiped some rain water off of the shoulder of her jacket. “Not quite. I left with permission, sweetheart, and I didn’t trick anybody into coming with me.”

“He would have done it eventually,” she argued, referring to Cas.

The archangel shrugged. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your right to help things along, and you murdered a bunch of fairly innocent people. _And_ you’re just itching to off our little brother, too. That’s really not very nice, you know. In fact, it’s kind of a dick move.”

She opened her mouth to form another retort, but he’d had enough. He placed the fingertips of one hand just above her eyes and pulled on her true self. She screamed, and white light streamed out of her mouth, nose, and eyes. He didn’t stop until the ethereal part of her was ripped from the body and torn to pieces. The room filled with light as he did so, and then dispersed just as quickly, momentarily taking out the power and cloaking them all in darkness.

When the filament of the room’s single light bulb flickered back on, Gabriel stood over Rhiannon’s dead human body. He was out of breath. Sweat soaked through his pale yellow shirt along his spine, and even in the dim light, Cas could just make out the dark edges of a massive set of wings. The act must have worn out even the archangel, who should easily be able to prevent these visible signs. Perhaps he had left Heaven at a cost to his abilities, Castiel suspected. Maybe he’d given them up. Maybe he and Cas had more in common than he and Rhiannon.

Cas got up off the dusty floor. He decided to keep his mouth shut until someone acknowledged him.

Bal’s sword disappeared up the vessel’s sleeve, in an act that defied what would seem possible to a human. Her shirt sleeve was nearly skin-tight, and, just as Lot’s salt crystal had vanished in her pocket to an unknown location of Bal’s choosing, so too did the blade. She bent down and placed the palm of her hand on Bobby’s forehead. With an expression that seemed to mimic what a mother might have when caring for a sick or injured child, the angel restored his damaged organs, mended his broken bones, and, most importantly, yanked his soul back from the Kingdom. Hooking it in place took only a second—faster than hanging a coat on a rack. As part of standard procedure, she also wiped his memory of Heaven.

The man awoke with a start. His eyes wide, he stared right at Balthazar, “Who—?” but his voice trailed off. It didn’t take long at all for him to notice Gabriel, who still hadn’t turned, and the shell of the attacker at his feet. He immediately felt outnumbered and uncomfortable. Shifting his weight, he looked up at Cas. “Friends of yours?”

Before he could answer, however, creaking on the ladder heralded the arrival of another visitor. Dean appeared through the opening in the floor, and once he stood, Sam climbed in just as abruptly. The older hunter surveyed the room and its occupants carefully. But when he found no immediate aggressive action, he drifted over to Bobby and started checking him for injury.

“Wait,” Sam said from near the exit. “Why is the—why is the trickster here?!”

Gabriel’s back straightened. He pivoted in place. For a brief moment, Cas saw unhappiness and even a little regret on his face. But it changed to a mask of amusement and dark playfulness. “Castiel! You didn’t tell me you joined a fraternity. I hate to break it to you, but it’s filled with hunters. And they’re both dicks!”

“What?” Cas didn’t understand. Had Gabriel been watching them? Or visiting with Sam? Why would an archangel—

“It was a case,” Dean supplied, sneering across the room. “This ass was killing people with fake aliens and ghosts. Whatever he thought they deserved, he killed them with it.”

“Dean, shut your trap,” Bobby warned barely above a whisper.

But he continued unfazed. “We thought we ganked the fucker. Put a stake through his heart.”

“Dean!” Cas growled. “Remember that book we have downstairs?”

“Yeah?”

“This is the owner. The archangel Gabriel,” his voice wavered. “Rhiannon is dead, and Gabriel killed her.”

“Surprise!” he laughed, waving his hands in the air. “You’re not gonna try and stake me again, are you? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, that wouldn’t actually work, even if you had managed to stab me. You know, the real me.”

Dean didn’t have words to use in response to that. He just stood there, mouth agape, arms hanging limp and heavy at his sides. Sam managed little more than that, “I-uh—I—I’m sorry.”

“Jesus H. Christ, that’s adorable!” He laughed again. “I’m sorry, mister archangel! I’m oh so sorry.”

“They didn’t know.” Cas hoped Gabriel might spare their lives if he could just explain that they had no idea angels even existed.

Gabriel’s head snapped in Cas’s direction, but he showed no sign of the wrath he thought for sure he’d receive for opening his mouth. “But you did an extraordinary job filling them in, little brother. Literally. I mean, shit,” he sashayed over to Dean and squinted at him. “How did you even survive this?” he could have been addressing either of them. “Because I dunno if you can see what it looks like, but it hurts. It’s painful to look at, man. I’m just gonna fix it, okay? This is ridiculous. It’s downright embarrassing.”

He raised his hands to touch both of them, but Cas backed away. “No.”

“What?” both Dean and Gabriel said at the same time. But the archangel recovered first. “No? I don’t think that word means what you think it means! You can barely stand without holding every cell up. You’re perpetually ready to explode. And worse yet, you put all the good stuff inside a human where, guess what, it don’t belong. Just let me sew you back together. Keep the body.”

“No,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have that much power. I don’t want it. I just—can you, I dunno, heal it around the edges? Please? Like, smooth it down, so it doesn’t hurt all the time? Same for Dean?” he asked weakly. “Unless, you really don’t want it,” he spoke to the hunter, “then maybe you could just throw it away or absorb it or something.”

“Cauterize it?” Gabriel blinked in disbelief. “You want me to—fine. I can do that. You’re crazy. Completely Looney Toons. But okay. First time for everything. And I’ll throw in a free ‘make that thing you call a body work properly.’ You know, so you don’t have to hand-crank your heart, and you can have a sandwich without doing all the manual labor right after.”

He motioned for Cas to come toward him. When he did, he tilted his head at Dean, “So, what’s it gonna be, Tinkerbelle? You want the fairy dust or not?”

Dean didn’t move. He stared at Cas, his mind running through the two options. He’d always assumed that when the stuff finally left him, it would go right back to Cas. He’d have it. He’d be happy. But now? He didn’t even want it. The decision surely had something to do with their argument, with the pressure to conform or to measure up to Dean’s—and the other humans’—expectations. And maybe he believed it, too. Maybe he didn’t think he could be trusted with his full abilities. It was possible he didn’t like what he remembered about himself. He didn’t want to be a soldier, again. Or he didn’t want to betray Dean, again.

Whatever the reasoning, it seemed like a waste to just discard it. And, anyway, it was a part of him. It lived inside him, and when he wasn’t trying to use it—and no one was finger-painting warding magic—it felt kinda nice. Warm. Like a permanent fuzzy feeling mixed with a side of heartburn that didn’t hurt. And more importantly, it felt like him—like Cas—and he could carry it around with him wherever he went. He had it when he fell asleep and when he woke up. He had it every minute of every day. If it was a drug, Dean never had to worry about detoxing or running out. He had an endless supply.

If the trickster—the archangel—could take away the hangover, then he could live with it. “Leave it there.”

“What?!” came from Bobby. “Have you gone and lost it, boy?”

His face flushed a little, but didn’t take his eyes off of Cas. “I’m fine.”

Bobby moved to try and intervene, but Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When the older man shot him a questioning glance, “It could end up being useful,” he said simply.

“Damned if I see how.”

“Good enough for me.” Gabriel put one hand on Dean’s stomach and the other on the top of Cas’s head. Closing his eyes, he dove in.


	15. Games Without Frontiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Cold, healing energy seeped into both of them. In the angel, it soothed and mended. Where the damage was too awkward—where an ability was sheared off in the middle—he found and attached the other piece, giving most of it back to Castiel with a little to Dean. In one place, the other part simply couldn’t be found. Most of Cas’s ability to smite, to blast enemies away outright, was too mangled and destroyed to be repaired, especially with most of it missing. He decided to cut it away entirely. It would only cause the lesser angel pain if it remained.

When he got to Dean and started to create a sort of healing net or cushion, to prevent some of the psychic injury he’d been experiencing—he couldn’t help but notice some very interesting, albeit troubling, attributes of his condition. The wings and other parts had attached perfectly to the man’s soul, a task that should have been impossible for someone who knew what they were doing, let alone a frantic amateur. It was a good thing they’d decided to keep it, because Gabriel wasn’t certain he would be able to remove it completely without damage.

And, it didn’t seem like Castiel had done anything to make it work at all. He’d just thrown his energy in the general direction, and the body, the soul—it reacted. It naturally allowed for the energy. It grew and intertwined itself with the power to form a symbiotic, functioning connection.

And the reason was obvious. This vessel—and he was definitely a vessel—was so important, so drastically vital under the right circumstances, that it was engineered to handle, accept, and embrace any angel energy. But it was only supposed to hold one angel. Immediately, however, the reason behind how that was possible became clear, as well. Wings weren’t what gave an angel personality. It was just power. Juice. Rocket fuel. Faced with blank, unsigned angelic energy delivered directly to the soul, the body assumed it belonged to the rightful controller, and took it in.

As if these revelations weren’t enough, one more thing became immediately apparent. A strong chord extended outward from the soul in question and across the room to another occupant. Small amounts of human energy moved in both directions across this line. It shimmered, and it looked—it felt—like God. More accurately, like God had put it there.

Well, that certainly wasn’t part of the end of days backup plan. It had nothing to do with Dean being a vessel—the intended vessel for Michael. In fact, he thought, it could be a defense against it. No human with a soulmate that Gabriel’d ever heard of consented to an angel possession. Even when the other person was threatened, knowing that eternal happiness with each other was a given, was absolutely and undeniably secured, there could be no reason to let an angel in. It would just mean less time the couple got to be together consciously.

He took hold of the thread and tugged on it. To his partial surprise, the person who stumbled a step in their direction was a bewildered Sam Winchester. “My fault,” Gabriel said instantly. Closing his eyes again, he worked the net in place and pried the soul open a bit more to give the wings more room.

When the job was finished, he let both of them go, and took several huge steps back. “That was enlightening.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked first, more than a little curious about what he had to do with it.

He hesitated. The implications of what he knew were massive. He could just not tell them. They didn’t really need to know, and he wasn’t exactly a fan of the Winchesters, given their prior assassination attempt. But at the same time, his Father tasked him with protecting the truth and with promoting it. Though he enjoyed more than anything creating illusions and tricking people, he did value this responsibility.

Gabriel decided to start with the easier one. “Well, you’re this generation’s vessel for my big brother,” he spoke matter-of-factly. “If the world were ending, Michael would have to use you—of all people—to fight Lucifer. That’s why you were able to carry angel energy without it turning you into a gooey stick of TNT. You’re actually designed to handle the most powerful angel ever created. Congrats.”

Rolling the muscles in his back, Dean soaked in the information with a fairly high level of disinterest. The world wasn’t going to shit any more than usual as far as he knew, apart from the divine civil war, so whether or not he had that potential didn’t really matter. “Great,” he mumbled.

The others took in the news with astonishment, especially Cas. There was only one vessel for Michael at any given time. That person was unique. In the Kingdom, that person was the most important human walking the earth, even though the identity was kept a secret. And that was who Castiel loved, who he spent every free moment with, who he’d given a piece of himself to. Cas felt special just being in the same room with him.

And he could focus on feeling things like that now. His body had started working on its own, like a human’s would. His heart, his breathing, all of his systems—they worked like they had when he was just Lucas Peterson. Though he was still very much trapped in the body, flightless and quite useless, it was his. It wasn’t going to explode or self-destruct simply because he’d tied himself down inside it, not anymore. And by what may as well have been a miracle, it didn’t hurt anymore! The once jagged and torn edges of himself simply faded off into nothing.

There wasn’t even an ache or any kind or feeling of loss. It felt almost as though he’d never had it in the first place. If he didn’t know better, he could pretend he was just a human with a few extra abilities.

“There’s one other thing,” Gabriel looked around the room slowly. “And you’re not gonna like it.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it gonna be now? Bobby’s the antichrist, and my brother’s predestined to join the circus? I don’t wanna ruin the good fun, but Sammy’s got this thing about clowns…”

Gabriel chuckled. “I like the sense of humor. I do. But no. This is good news—well, sort of. I suppose it depends on how you look at it in this case. Anyway, you have a soulmate. Another soul created at the same time and inescapably linked to you. You’ll share paradise together, blah blah blah, undying devotion, nothing can ever part you, romantic B.S., match literally made in Heaven, the whole deal.”

Cas felt like he’d been shot.

And Dean didn’t feel much better. “What the hell do you mean? What does that mean? There’s somebody out there I’m supposed to be going after? Man, fuck that! I make my own decisions, okay? And I don’t need some cosmic destiny bullshit to get laid.” Or to be in love, more importantly.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “First off, you can shack up with whoever you want, but when it comes to love, there’s only one choice.”

“Only one choice with other humans,” Cas corrected very carefully. He didn’t really care who found out anymore, but he also still feared the power Gabriel wielded. “The souls would-uh, they’d repel each other, right? But that wouldn’t happen with anything that doesn’t have a soul.”

“Okay, yeah, you could fall in love with a goat or a vampire or something—because that would totally go well—but I don’t see how you would be as happy. The souls bond right out of the gate, and then God gives them a real connection so that wherever they end up, they’ll be drawn back to each other. It’s like one big magnetic dating service, and it’s pretty much a guarantee.”

Bal glared at Cas, who felt like vomiting. When he turned to look at Dean, the hunter’s expression was one of reassurance. He had no intention of pursuing this soulmate business, the look said. He didn’t believe in fate, and he liked the idea of it even less.

“Who’s the broad?” The question came from Bobby. “The chick he’s supposed to have the psychic hots for?”

The archangel grinned, but then tried to suppress it. He swiveled dramatically to look at Sam and raised both eyebrows. The man’s face lit up in surprise, and his mouth dropped open. “I told you you weren’t gonna like it,” he still addressed Dean.

“No,” the older Winchester exclaimed in disgust. “No, no fucking way. You made a mistake. That’s my brother. We’re brothers. We’re fucking related. No, that’s sick.”

“God doesn’t really look at it like that,” Gabriel kept calm. “You apes haven’t been around all that long, and every last one of you is technically related. You think just ‘cause some of you have different hair colors or, God help you, some actually enjoy watching _Jersey Shore_ and _Keeping Up with the_ intolerable _Kardashians_ , that you aren’t basically all one big dysfunctional family? Hell, that’s how it looks to me, and I’m an infant compared to our Father.” He sighed. “And anyway, c’mon, now. You two give off that vibe. I’m surprised you haven’t got down and dirty already, even without knowing about the holy matchmaking.”

“No way in hell,” Dean shook his head.

Sam stayed silent. Shallowly, he appeared to react negatively, his brow furrowed and his eyes danced wildly across the other figures in the room, but the edges of his lips twitched a little, and Cas could see that he wanted to smile. Even with Dean swearing high and low against the idea, even with Bobby in a state of shock on the other side of the room, and even with Castiel staring him down, horrified, Sam was relieved. He wasn’t fucked up, after all. Not on this. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t sick. It was real. There was a cause of his pain and his attraction, and it had legitimacy. It’d been sanctioned, and even created, by a higher power.

No one said anything for what felt like an eternity. In the end, it was Balthazar who made the first move. “God also believes in free will,” she said deliberately as Cas’s heart pounded inside his chest, and he seemed on the verge of hyperventilating. Bal put one hand on the back of Cas’s collar in an attempt to reassure him. “Choices can still be made.”

All at once, Gabriel finally caught on. “Oh, shit. I should have known something was up with you two,” he gestured at Dean and Cas. Then, “which makes me very surprised you,” he looked over at Sam, “haven’t tried to kill the little rebel in his sleep.”

With that, Sam could take no more. “That’s crazy, I wouldn’t—” But before he said anything he might regret, either out of anger or in support of the soulmate idea, he turned around and quickly climbed down from the attic. Moments later, there wasn’t a trace of him.

Dean’s eyes lingered on the exit for almost a minute, his face clouded. He didn’t know how to take this kind of news, or what he should do with it. How could it be true? Sure, he and Sam were close, and sure, he looked out for him like it was his job, but how they’d grown up dictated that. They were brothers. Sam was his little brother. He was supposed to protect him. Right? That had to be all it was. He didn’t have any other motives. He only ever just wanted to be a good brother.

And what’s more, even if he had the inclination—which he most assuredly did not—he wasn’t available. Maybe it was true that he couldn’t truly be in love with any other human, but he didn’t have to be, because Cas was something different. While it may not have been endorsed by a deity, he didn’t need it to be. All he required was someone who cared about him that he could keep close, and maybe even trust.

He lifted his head to study Cas carefully, and found him a mess. Though it was almost too subtle to notice, the angel trembled. He looked like he might even pass out. Without hesitating, Dean cleared the distance and cupped his face in both hands. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he whispered, but everyone heard. “Cas, it doesn’t change anything. If it’s true now, then it was true ten minutes ago, right? It was true yesterday. It was true last week. But we were fine then. Nothing’s changed, okay?” He kissed him firmly, even though Bobby and the others were watching. “You hear me? Nothing.”

“I can’t interfere with God’s plan for you,” Cas returned even though he didn’t really want to say it.

“Oh yes, you can. And you’re gonna,” he retorted. “I’m not chasing after my own brother, all right? That’s—uh, just no. It’s not happening. You don’t even have to worry about it.”

“Umm, I’m gonna go,” Gabriel broke in. He pointed over his shoulder with one thumb. “It’s totally been fun. Good luck with—uh—all that.” The last word hung in the air with no speaker to go with it. Rhiannon’s body disappeared, too. With them gone and the situation neutralized, Balthazar took off abruptly, as well, leaving only Dean, Cas, and Bobby in the dusty attic.

Without looking at him, “So-uh, you have a heart attack over there, yet, Bobby?” He let go of Cas and eventually turned to face him. Cas shoved his hands into his pockets and backed away a little.

“Boy, you are just a roadside carnival of trouble,” he scolded. “But if you’re talkin’ about this angel hanky panky business, yeah, I kinda figured that out already. I ain’t an idjit. Gimme more credit than that.”

“How?” Cas asked despite attempting to stay out of it. He dropped the ruse entirely, reverting back to the voice he used with the Winchesters.

“Well, first off, there’s motion sensors on the doors to your rooms. No offense, but I like to know where people are in my own house. Yours goes off, then the angel’s, then yours again—and then nothin’ ‘til morning. Pretty damn obvious to me.” He walked by them, patting Dean on the shoulder along the way. “That and you always have that lovesick puppy look—both of you.”

Dean shifted his weight. “Oh, come on, I don’t—”

“You’re worse than he is!” he gestured wildly, taking a few steps down the ladder. “But considerin’ everything else I just heard, and, oh, I don’t know, the fact that I just fucking died—yeah, not high up on my list of concerns.” He took a deep breath, “I dunno what you’re plannin’ to do about your brother, though. I can’t make heads or tails of that.”

“You and me both, Bobby,” was all he could say.

***

Quietly and surreptitiously, Bal and Gabriel made a pitstop downstairs before going their separate ways.

“I take it you want something for it?” the archangel asked, visibly impatient to leave. “Other than my help upstairs?”

Bal nodded, smiling. She wasn’t quite used to conversing so openly with such a powerful being, but if the plan went into action, Bal would have to get used to it. “Your journal,” she said simply. “I need it.”

He picked it up and waved it around. “Why?”

Balthazar approached him with an air of confidence. Peering up at him, “You have made many friends in your time on Earth. I would bet you put a few names down in that book. I want to speak with one of them. I believe this individual will be able to help me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Gabriel did a little searching in the mental recesses of Bal’s vessel. He snorted when he found which creature she had in mind. “Able to, sure. But good luck with that!” He laughed, tossing the book at her. “Fair warning, sweetheart, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch.” More like personal experience. “Do you have it or not?”

Bal darted off for a fraction of a second to retrieve the item. When she reappeared, she carefully held Gabriel’s horn of truth, which, until a recent raid on a certain cache of divine weapons, was locked away by Raphael. Gabe’s brothers refused to let him leave with it. But the horn had been crafted for him by their Father. It was meant for him and him alone. When Bal tracked Gabriel down and told him she could retrieve it, he was willing to play ball so long as she could deliver. That meant coughing up his old diary—which he’d only made because he feared wrongly that he might lose power or memories by being cut off from Heaven. And it apparently meant helping the Winchesters.

He took the instrument from her and felt the metal of it in his hands. It hadn’t changed in all the millennia he’d gone without it. It was a little piece of home, and he had almost forgotten how much he missed it. After a bit of inspection to make sure it was undamaged, he brought it into himself for safe keeping.

“It was a pleasure,” she said with her nose already buried in the book.

He shrugged. When she finally looked up, he was gone.

***

Downstairs, everything seemed eerily quiet. Sam was nowhere in sight, and Dean’s car was missing. In Bobby’s office, they found a strange ceramic container where Gabriel’s journal had been. Next to it on the desk sat a note scribed in a girl’s handwriting. Dean picked it up. “Thanks for the light reading,” he read with a grimace painted on his face. “I will be sure to put it to good use. Since we are exchanging gifts, I thought you might want this holy oil. It could come in handy. Recipe: One angel, well-marinated. Burn until crispy for a nice BBQ. Or, you can catch one in a circle if you are feeling talkative.”

He continued reading to himself. “ _Pretty awesome, right? Let me know if you need me to save your asses, again. –Balthazar. P.S.: Gabe will not miss the journal. You are welcome for Rhiannon. I could have battled her myself, but it would not have been as flashy_.”

Cas peered into the vase. “Anyone can wield this,” he pointed out. “And it won’t hurt you unless it’s lit. It’s gonna make things a lot easier. Might even keep some angels away entirely.”

He smiled. “Dude, wouldn’t it be awesome if we made Molotov cocktails out of this stuff? We could make a bunch of them.”

The other two looked skeptical, but Dean didn’t care. It was the first real defense he had against the angel onslaught that didn’t involve running away. With all the bad and the confusion, even a little win deserved celebration. Now, if only he could erase everything else.


	16. Running to Stand Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Sam drove for hours. He cleared Sioux Falls in no time and just kept going. Pausing only to refill the Impala’s tank, he didn’t stop until he reached the South Dakota state border in the west. And only then it was because the car didn’t belong to him. He couldn’t just take it and leave. Moreover, he didn’t really want to. The distance did nothing to dampen his feelings on the subject, and it might’ve even made it worse.

He pulled over on a muddy dirt road, got out in the light rain, and started walking. He had no idea where he was going to go, but he just couldn’t sit still.

Before Sam knew it, he was lost. He’d passed a farm about twenty minutes ago, but now he was in a pine forest, with no trail or any real sign of civilization. The rain began to pick up, and it soaked in through the seams of his jacket. At the top of a ridge, he looked around for a good avenue out of the brush, but came up empty. Selecting a direction at random, he started down but slipped, hitting trees and rocks before finally coming to rest in a ditch. He moaned. Now, he wasn’t just lost and emotionally unstable, but also in physical pain.

Nothing seemed dire, just a host of bruises and cuts. His jeans were caked in mud, though, and he had a sizable cut on his hand. He wrapped it in a rag from his jacket pocket, but he thought with disappointment that it might eventually need stitches. Swearing, he inched back under a rocky outcropping to get out of the rain. He brought his knees up to his chest, put his head in his arms, and closed his eyes.

The hunter stayed like that until the rain stopped and a light breeze chilled him to the bone. He was pondering his next move when, to his right, he heard footsteps. “If you’d broken your leg, you could’ve died down here,” said an unfamiliar figure in his periphery vision.

As she got closer, he saw it was a cop—a smallish African-American woman in a loose-fitting brown uniform. Curly locks tumbled out from under her sheriff’s hat, and despite her chosen profession, she wore makeup and seemed to take care of herself well. Behind a pair of rimless glasses and a sizable amount of mascara, she had bright, amber-colored eyes, which didn’t seem surprised at all to see him cowering under a rock.

“Hi there. My name’s Maya LaSiren, and I’m from the Rapid City Sheriff’s Office. Saw you took a tumble back there. Are you all right, sir?” her head bobbed up and down as she looked him over for serious injury. “Took me this long to get down safely. You are incredibly lucky you didn’t crack your head open.”

“You gonna arrest me?” Sam sniffed.

“Well, you’re trespassing on private property. Mind telling me what you’re doing here, roaming around in the rain? You put a fright in the Williamses something fierce. Is it drugs? A small amount probably won’t mean jail time, and we can get you some help.”

“I don’t do drugs,” he replied sternly. “I just needed to go for a walk. I didn’t know it was anyone’s property.”

“In the rain? Well, come on out of there,” she directed, keeping one hand on her gun. “What’s your name?”

He did as she commanded, keeping his hands in sight and not getting too close. “It’s Sam. Sam Wyman,” he went with the Rolling Stones bassist for a last name. “My ID’s in my pocket, left side, jacket.” The great thing about out-of-state IDs was that they were easier to fake and thus more likely to pass inspection. This one said it was from Florida.

Before quickly patting him down, she reached into his pocket and found the fake driver’s license, looking it over. After a moment, she handed it back. He had four other IDs stashed on him in different pockets, but he was careful not to do anything that warranted being searched in depth. She reached into her belt and produced a small flashlight, which she immediately shined into his eyes. He squinted.  When his pupils dilated, she put it back.

“All right, time to go. Start heading that way,” she pointed. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He found a path over the slippery stones and tangled grass. Throughout the trip, he tried to say as little as possible. You can’t be caught in a lie if you don’t have to tell one.

But it wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. “So, why the stroll, then?” she asked as they reached the tree line. “Death in the family? Nature enthusiast? Romantic troubles?”

He stopped, leaning on a large tree. Water dripped from his hair onto his cheek. “Last one.”

The Sheriff nodded and gave him a knowing look. “Thought so. Most boys will drink away their problems, but a girl’ll send ‘em out into a rainstorm plummeting head first down a cliff.”

He snickered a little, both at the imagery her phrasing conjured and at the assumption. He could work with it, though. “I hear that.”

“Your muscle car’s just a ways down the road,” she pointed. “You gonna make it there?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the help, officer,” he started in the general direction. After a few paces, “Hey, do you know where I can get a strong cup of coffee?” He’d spike it, too, if he didn’t have a long drive ahead of him.

She sauntered up to his side. “Well, that’d be Henry’s over on fifteenth. It’s sludge, but it could wake the dead.”

“Perfect. Thanks, again.”

“How ‘bout I buy you a cup?” she called after him. “You walk in looking like that, and I’m gonna get another call.”

He looked down to acknowledge the blood and muck. Though he didn’t want to spend any more time with a cop if he could help it, she had a point. “I look like I got run over.”

“Exactly. So, what you’re gonna do, Sam, is follow me in that gas guzzler down to the diner, and we’ll get some caffeine in you, and you can clean up. And then you can head on back to, what, Florida?”

“Near Sioux Falls, actually. Visiting family for a few days.”

“Even better!”

They reached the vehicles, which were parked only a few feet apart. She got in right away and started the engine. She waited only until he did the same before taking off. When they arrived, it took Sam a few tries to get out of the Chevy, and when he did, it was to protests from practically every muscle in his body.

“Hiya, sheriff,” the cook greeted her. When he saw Sam, he gave him a hesitant nod.

They took a booth near the back corner and both ordered coffee. He eyed the menu but wasn’t hungry. “So, what’s the deal?” LeSiren pried. “Did she run off with somebody else? What’d you do?”

“Didn’t get that far,” he said cautiously as a waitress brought their drinks. “Already with someone else—a good friend of mine, actually.” He raised an eyebrow and tried the coffee black. Grimacing, he poured in enough sugar to change the liquid’s consistency to a syrup.

“But you don’t think your friend is right for her?” she opted for cream in her coffee and stirred it for awhile without taking a drink. The dull spoon clicked against ceramic.

“No, he’s great. They’re happy.” Happiest Dean had ever been as far as he could tell, actually, which just made the fact sting more. He hung his head.

She looked him over. Her glasses caught light from a nearby window and shined. “So, you’re just crushing hard, then? But she doesn’t want to be with you, so rather than try and get over it, you’re miserable?”

Just get over it? How could he get over something he hadn’t even started? Sam sighed. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“You think she has feelings for you, too?” she still hadn’t touched her coffee.

“We go way back,” his heart raced, “and, I mean, it seems like it. I dunno. But it’s killing me.”

She brought the mug to her lips and blew on the liquid. Taking a very small sip, “I’d talk to her about it, if I were you. You can’t keep chasing after somebody who doesn’t want you, but if you don’t know for sure, then you ought to get it straight from the source. Then you can move on.”

“And what if—if the feeling’s mutual? It wouldn’t be right to try and break them up…”

“Well, that would depend on a lot of variables, Sam, but I’ll tell you one thing I know for sure,” her face was dead serious, “Don’t think of her as an object to win over. If you value her, like you seem to, then you damn well should be thinking of her as a person. And people decide things without needing any help, and they make their own choices. If she wants you, she’ll pick you. If she wants your friend, she’ll pick the friend. You’re not going to be able to will her to your side, especially not through pressuring her.”

He soaked the advice in. The Sheriff had a good point, though he didn’t think that meant he would fare well. Still, they would have to talk about it eventually, and maybe hearing Dean reject him with a clear head would help—like drilling a hole in his own skull might help. “Thanks for the advice.”

Satisfied, she got up abruptly, tossing a few dollar bills on the table. “Good luck, Sam.” She left the diner at a leisurely pace. He finished his drink and changed into clean clothes in the restaurant’s bathroom. Sore and with his chest feeling tight, he climbed back into Dean’s car and took off for the eastern part of the state.

***

They managed to go a full week without saying a word about it. Dean felt like he could go a lifetime. He didn’t want to talk about the soulmate deal with anyone, let alone Sam, and he didn’t have anything to say on the matter. It was too uncomfortable, too murky a subject. He knew what it looked like—how their extreme closeness over the years appeared to outsiders. And maybe this bond was part of the reason for it, though he wanted desperately for it not to be. It felt better if it just originated with him, if that need to protect his brother and to look out for him was because he wanted to—and Sam looking up to him was a product of that—not because of some weird romantic, divinity-inspired connection.

The more he thought about it, however, the more it seemed like an underlying drive and less like part of his own character. Too many times he’d done it without even thinking, acted without any sort of foresight or planning. Hell, he’d impulsively sought to protect him even when he quite obviously didn’t need it or want it. Though Dean certainly wanted to do it just as much as he needed to, what if the want was some sort of symptom? If that was the case, then what kind of person was he really? He’d always defined himself by how well he’d helped, how good of a big brother or son he’d been. But if it wasn’t really genuine, wasn’t a motivation that came from wanting to do the right thing, then he didn’t know who he was, and everything he did in relation to Sam could be called into question.

Dean could be called into question.

He tried unsuccessfully not to think about it. Whenever possible, he found distractions, either in research or drinking or Cas. He avoided Sam in general, and didn’t even chew him out for taking his car. The interaction necessary to do that wouldn’t have been worth the possibility that Sam might bring it up.

And it seemed like he was just itching to talk about it. Every time they did see each other, on the incredibly rare occasions that Dean couldn’t prevent them from being alone, Sam was on the verge of saying something. He’d open his mouth, but just couldn’t quite get the words out in the time Dean allowed, and he would find a reason to leave or change the subject or invite others into the room before Sam could get his act together.

But Sam was almost as stubborn as Dean. He always had been. If he couldn’t find an opportunity to get him alone, he would just have to make one.

As a courtesy, he waited until Bobby was engrossed in some lore and a six pack in the other room, and Dean and Cas were not busy or otherwise engaged. Cas already knew everything, right down to Sam’s drunken mishap, so it didn’t really matter if he was there or not.

Sam  found the two watching TV in the living room. He walked in quietly and took a seat across from his brother. Leaning forward, he pressed the knuckle of his index finger into his bottom lip. He didn’t look at the tube at all and instead kept his gaze fixed on Dean—who squirmed under his watch, fidgeting in the ripped and warn leather chair. But he blatantly refused to look at him. After a few minutes of this, Sam finally got up the courage to speak. “We need to talk,” the words pierced though the thick tension between them. He would force a conversation out of the older hunter if he had to.

Dean didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t even move, as though if he just ignored him and pretended he wasn’t there, Sam would go away. But Cas inadvertently helped, merely by being in the room. He looked over at Dean, saw his expression of discomfort, and then his eyes met Sam’s. Before he could say anything, however, Dean forced himself to answer. “Hey-uh, Cas? Could you give us a few minutes?”

“Yeah,” he stood and headed for the door, “of course.” Out of Dean’s sight, the angel cast Sam a fearful look. Whatever you’re planning, his expression begged, don’t take him away from me. Sam bobbed his head once to signal that he understood, though it wasn’t a promise. He couldn’t offer one, or anything like it. Truth be told, if given the unlikely opportunity, he would do just that. Sam knew it was cruel, and he recognized that it was wrong. But he didn’t really care. If he could have Dean for real, he’d do anything.

Cas reluctantly left, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, Sam got right to it. “If Cas wasn’t around, what would you do?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he rose to his feet and began pacing around the room.

“Alternate scenario. Theoretical. You never met him, or he leaves, or whatever. He’s not around. It’s just us, and what we know. What happens? What do you do?” It was surprisingly easy to ask. He’d played the questions over and over in his head for days, but he’d thought for sure it would never come out like he imagined.

“Cas _is_ here, Sammy. It doesn’t matter.”

Sam watched his steps closely and studied every aspect of him, as though it might be the last time he could. He rememorized every inch, from his closest hand, clenched into a fist, to his nose, dotted faintly with freckles and pointed at the floor. “Humor me. The answer matters. I need to know.”

He hesitated, tracing circles across the floor with his shuffling. “C’mon. Nothing. Nothing happens.” He didn’t look at him. He couldn’t make himself do it.

“Really?” his voice cracked a little. Dean could say that all he wanted, but deep down, Sam didn’t believe it. “Because, I gotta tell you, that’s not what my answer would be.”

He raised both eyebrows, but did and said nothing.

“What I would say—is that if it weren’t for Cas, I’d want to—it wouldn’t even be a choice for me, Dean.” He rose from his seat, too, and took a few careful paces toward him, but stopped short, maintaining some distance. “You know, I get it,” his voice was low. He didn’t want it to carry beyond the room. “I don’t expect, well, anything. I just need you to know. I’m never gonna be with anyone else. I understand that, now. Even if by some miracle I live to be a hundred. Even if you never so much as look at me in any way other than as my brother. If I have to wait until we’re both dead or an eternity, then I’ll do that, but I can’t just pretend like I don’t want to spend every minute with you, that I don’t want to have you. Because I really, really do.”

Despite every urge otherwise, Sam kept his focus on him until he finally returned the gesture. His breath caught in his chest.

“Okay,” was all he said.

Sam clenched his jaw shut. He didn’t know what he truly expected would happen or if he even really believed Dean would say anything back. But after pouring his heart out to him, maybe he’d hoped for a little more than that. “I’m not alone in this, though, right? There’s gotta be something you’re feeling, too. Maybe it’s not as much, but—”

“No.” Dean narrowed his eyes at him, but pushed himself to keep their stares locked. Before long, his expression softened. “I don’t know,” he corrected himself. “I don’t have the slightest idea about all this. But look, Sammy, I—it won’t work. It’s not gonna happen. It has to be Cas. I don’t have another route I can take.”

“That’s not true,” he shook his head, “You know it’s not. You know it because you say it all the time. There’s always a choice. There’s me. I’m right here. I’m the other choice.” He extended one hand in an attempt to touch him, but stopped himself, and let it drop back to his side.

“No, I can’t, man. I’m sorry,” he moved forward a little so he could speak quietly, and it was the closest they’d been in weeks. “If I go after you, I lose Cas. Probably for good. Which I can’t—I don’t even want to imagine that, Sam. If I stay with Cas, you’re still my brother. You’re not going anywhere. You can’t. You can’t, and you won’t.”

Anger at that gurgled up from deep inside him. Dean would rather get the best of both worlds, but what about Sam and what he wanted? What he felt like he needed?

“That’s what makes this so fucking impossible, Dean!” he shouted, and he didn’t care who heard. “I get nothing. And the worst part is, I actually like Cas—a lot! I like how happy he makes you, and I’m jealous that it’s not me doing it. And every moment you’re with him, I feel like I’ve lost you—like I’m losing you all over again. So, what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t even think about anyone else. I don’t want to. I’m starting to believe I wasn’t even ever in love with Jess—not really—because it didn’t feel anything like this! I guess I just liked the idea of a normal life. But I don’t want normal. I want you! There’s no other choice for me. This is it. You’re it.”

Dean gulped, and his eyes shined just a little more in the blue flickering light of the TV. “I’m sorry.”

Sam took a small step forward. He bent down a little, halting unbearably close to him. Dean didn’t move or avert his gaze. Sam gulped. He was close enough to touch. And he so desperately wanted to touch him. “When you saw I was with her, all you wanted was to put an end to it. You wanted me back.”

“No, I needed you back. To find Dad.” God, what would their father think of all this? The question repeated on a seemingly endless loop in Dean’s skull.

“You coulda found him on your own, Dean. You know that. Hell, don’t you remember? You told me! You tell me it all the time. You don’t want to go it alone. You want me with you. You can’t fucking stand it.” He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and gripped Dean’s collar with both hands. “That’s how I feel every time I’m in the same room with you, and I can’t have you. And it’s just as bad when I’m by myself. I can’t focus on anything else.”

He shook his head. “What the hell am I supposed to do? You’re my brother, damnit, and Cas and I—I dunno if you noticed, but we’re happy. Actually happy.”

“I know. If I had my way, you’d be happy all the time, Dean! And I’d be the one making it happen. I’d make sure you were. Every chance I got. Like I’m _supposed_ to.”

“Oh, c’mon! No. No, Sammy. You’re not _supposed_ to do anything. We don’t let other people decide our lives for us, dude. That’s bullshit.” Dean spoke the words, but in every pause his lips kept moving in silence as he replayed it in his head. He had zero confidence that he could change Sam’s mind or even help him. His brother was in pain over this—obvious pain—and he could do nothing.

Right?

Distraught, Sam refused to listen to what he was saying. All he wanted to hear was that Dean cared for him in the same way, too. “That’s not true, Dean. It’s not. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I let you decide my life, and most of the time, I don’t even question it.” His fingers loosened on Dean’s shirt, climbed up his neck, and came to rest lightly on his jaw. “I wanna make you happy. I _want_ to, and I’d love to. Don’t you get it? I could be everything for you if you let me, I swear.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted, grabbing one of Sam’s wrists with the intent of forcing his hand away. But when he focused on Sam’s expression—eyes that pleaded for what essentially amounted to his help—he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t let him down, even about this. Changing his tone, “You really want that?” he whispered the question. He needed to hear it at least one more time.

When Sam breathed out, it was close enough to feel. “Yeah.”

Dean’s bottom lip grazed Sam’s. Though the older man had let it happen, it still came as surprise. The sensation was so light neither of them could be sure they’d really experienced it. But at the same time, it changed everything. At once, they couldn’t pretend like nothing would ever happen between them, because it just had, on a very small but significant scale. Before Dean could fully process the event, it happened again. A real kiss soon followed from Sam. He gave several more before Dean finally returned the action, shutting his eyes.

As the pace and intensity picked up, Sam’s hands dropped and slid back to the base of Dean’s spine. Once there, he went a step further, sliding a few fingers under his shirt, just to contact skin. He was hot to the touch. And the story at his lips was the same—warm and smooth and exactly how he remembered from that hapless night last year. Only, this time, it seemed like Dean slowly began to want him, too. He wouldn’t be there, giving himself over to Sam if he didn’t, and the look on his face confirmed it. Arousal. Relief.

All because of Sam. He elicited this reaction. He caused it. Knowing that he was the reason, that in that moment he could make Dean excited—it filled him with an astounding sense of purpose. And he sank into the feeling, let it surround and envelop him. Coupled with his own exhilaration, the sensation took hold of him by every nerve. He wanted to push for more, and he thought for sure that in Dean’s current state, he might just get it. But the cop’s advice lingered in the back of his head like an itch. If he pressured him, even though he might get what he wanted in the short term, Dean could very easily feel coerced.  And then he might lose him for good.

It wouldn’t work, and Dean deserved a lot better than that. If he loved him as much as it felt like he did, then the smartest thing he could do was hand the power back. That’s the only way he would ever choose Sam. It was his best shot.

It took self-control he didn’t know he had to let him go. Even then, he returned for a lighter kiss to his cheek, which drew a barely audible moan from him. Finally moving away, Sam sat down on the edge of an old grey couch. He looked up at him with a calm smile on his face. “I know you’re with Cas, and I don’t wanna screw things up for you, Dean. But if you want me as much as I want you, I’ll be here. Whenever you want.”

He watched in wonder as Dean blushed. “And you can have pretty much anything else you can think of.” He continued, chewing on the tip of his thumb and beamed from behind it. “If I have to wait a long time, I don’t care. I’ll be patient.” Sam wasn’t sure at all that he could hold out, but he was willing to try.

Dean wiped at his mouth. Slowly, guilt and indecision crept in. But before he could drown in it, Sam got up and headed for the exit. “No one has to find out about this, either,” he kept a tranquil expression, “if you don’t want them to. I mean it. I just wanna see you happy.”

“You could live with that? If I didn’t choose you?”

No. God no. He refused to accept the idea that he may never get to have Dean romantically. He couldn’t handle it.

But he forced a shrug. “I think you will eventually. I just might have to wait a lot longer than I want to,” was Sam’s answer. Leaving before he could change his mind, he caught a questioning glance from Cas in the hallway. He waved on the way up to his room. “All yours.”


	17. Love Me Two Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Dean was a horrible liar. He somehow managed to convincingly pass himself off as an FBI agent or detective, but when it came to his own emotions? It was a joke.

Regardless, he came up with a passable story to cover the closed door session and laid it out for the angel. They’d talked. Just talked. Both agreed that they were brothers first, and they didn’t want to mess that up. And anyway, Dean loved Cas. He said it a dozen times across the conversation. And Sam was happy for them. Things would be a little awkward for awhile, but eventually everything would work out. And life would go back to as close to normal as the group could expect.

But the only true thing about that conversation was that he did love him. He really did, and it killed him to lie. He expected Cas to be truthful with him, and here he was doing the exact opposite. But he couldn’t tell him what actually happened. Because he would still have to lie about how it felt. He enjoyed it. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was—unbelievable. It was just as good as how Castiel made him feel.

Though it _was_ different. With Cas, it was like an adventure. Unpredictable and awesome. By now, the angel knew what worked, but he wanted to try everything, just to see. And Dean was more than happy to go along for the ride. On the other hand, it seemed like Sam only really wanted to do what Dean would like, but he planned to do it really well. Slow. Methodically. With the kind of precision they might use on a hunt and, of course, with the familiarity that could only come from a lifetime spent practically attached at the hip.

He wanted that, too. He wanted both. The way it felt in the hours after he met with Sam—he might even need both. But being torn and pulled in two directions was already taking a toll on him. He felt like scum for what quite clearly amounted to cheating. He felt pathetic and indecisive. Cowardly. Sam deserved an answer, which he didn’t provide—nor did he have one—and Cas deserved loyalty.

It really was split down the middle. Even as he openly seemed to choose Cas, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. The opposite could just as easily be true. And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

And Cas didn’t buy into the B.S. at all. He wasn’t stupid. A little too trusting maybe, and morose more often than not, but he knew Dean’s tells. He could read it on his face. Something happened. Something was said or done, and now he wasn’t so sure about it all. Best guess? Sam gave him an ultimatum. Choose me or I’ll leave. And now Dean was calling his bluff, and worrying he might actually go.

Castiel knew he could do better than speculate. He went right to the source.

He found Sam sitting on the edge of the back porch. They’d put up small safe-havens around the property that utilized the sigils. That way, the three unaffected by them could walk around and simply dive for cover if and when trouble came knocking. Meanwhile, it meant Dean got a little more mobility, and he could at least go for a short walk without too much annoyance.

Above Sam’s head was a collection of Enochian words that he barely even noticed were there. In fact, he didn’t discern Cas’s arrival, either. His dark hazel eyes stared off into nothing. His posture, slumped and drooping, betrayed sadness, but he seemed strangely peaceful. His only movements were the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed.

Cas tried to stay focused. “Are we still friends?”

His question broke the man out of his trance. He craned his neck to look at him before turning back. “Of course, Cas. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You did something—you wouldn’t do to a friend.”

Sam didn’t know how much the angel had found out, nor what fabrications Dean had come up with. After a moment of panic, he decided that if Cas did know about the kiss, he probably would’ve been angrier, or at least would have led with that. “I didn’t do anything,” he lied. “And I don’t plan to.”

“What’d you say to him?” he pressed.

“I told him the truth. How I felt. We talked about it.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” his stomach twisted into a knot. “You win.”

“I don’t believe you,” he replied, walking to the edge of the porch and jumping down to confront him.

Sam flinched. “He must have told you already that he chose you, that you’re the obvious choice. If he hasn’t, he will.”

“No, he has. But there’s no way. You can’t just beat this or ignore it. That’s not how it works. Now that you both know it’s there, now that you’re focusing on it—it’ll only get stronger. That’s how it’s designed,” he wished it wasn’t true.

Sam’s expression grew colder. “Dude, don’t you think messing with Dean’s soul might have changed the rules? Because the way I understand it, he shouldn’t feel anything for anyone else, but he does. And I can’t help but think it’s because of what you did,” he accused. “Whether it’s the direct cause, or you just made it so he has another road he can take, I don’t really care. Congrats. You should just be fucking happy it’s working.”

“It’s not working,” he said in a somber tone. “He’s lying to me. He’s hiding it. I don’t think Dean even knows what he wants, but if he ever does, it’s still gonna be you, Sam. Eventually. And in the meantime, you’re both in pain. It doesn’t make me happy to see that. You think I want you to suffer?”

“I think you’d wanna fight for him if you loved him,” he swallowed a bad taste in him mouth.

Cas took a moment to center himself, if only to keep from shaking. His heart raced inside his ribcage, but he hardly moved a muscle otherwise. To Sam, it was almost eerie how motionless he seemed. Inhuman. But at the same time, his big, round eyes were anything but a monster’s. There was more compassion behind them than Sam could call up in that instant.

“Yeah, Sam. I would. Because I do love him. But I also don’t wanna fight you. I mean, even if I didn’t consider you a friend, which isn’t the case, Dean cares about you so much. How could I fight someone he values as much as you? And still say that I care about him? I couldn’t do that. And, anyway, what good would come from it? What exactly would I gain? It wouldn’t help, and it’s just not something I wanna do.”

It would’ve been a lot easier for Sam if he did. Because then he wouldn’t feel so guilty. They could just duke it out. Winner gets Dean Winchester, the gorgeous and stoic hunter with pretty green eyes and enough baggage to fill an airport. Loser suffers in a personal hell. But, instead, the angel wasn’t going to take any action against him, even though Sam stood a good chance of destroying Cas and his happiness and the one thing he really had going for him.

“You don’t really think much at all of yourself, do you?” he changed the subject.

Cas shrugged. “I’d think even less if I sank that low. I’m not a soldier anymore. And I’ve managed to make room in my heart for things like compassion and adoration. Stuff like that—it’s so much better. I don’t wanna go back. I’d have to be something I’m not to become your enemy, Sam, and in that case, Dean shouldn’t pick me. Because he thinks I’m better than that. He really believes it.”

“So, what do we do, then? Just wait around until he figures it out?”

Cas shook his head. “Or one of us walks away, but I don’t think you can do that, and I can’t, either.”

“And he’d just go after you if you tried. Same with me.”

The angel thought about it for a long time. He scratched the side of his nose as a plan formed. Inconvenient but plausible, it might be the only option they had. “What if—” but he couldn’t finish the sentence and still look at him. He took a few steps away, climbed the concrete stairs, and took a seat in a brown rocking chair behind Sam. “What if Dean doesn’t have to choose? We don’t make him.”

“Huh?”

“We-uh—we share.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What, like take turns? You get him Tuesdays and Thursdays? I dunno, Cas.”

“He decides. With input from us when he wants it or when one of us is really hurting bad for attention.” He sighed. “But mostly, whatever his mood or his sense of fairness or his whims dictate. We take what we can get when we can get it and try to be patient when we can’t. Try not to bicker or kill each other.” He already hated the idea.

The younger Winchester ran his fingers through his own hair nervously. “And you would be fine with that? Not having Dean to yourself?” He wasn’t so sure he could be.

“I already don’t have him completely,” was his solemn reply. “Neither of us do right now in any real sense. Sure, I would love for it to just be the two of us, but I’m never gonna have that. It’s not possible, now. He’ll always be drawn to you, and you to him. Neither of you can help it, and I have to learn to accept that.”

But while Cas may have been on the verge of accepting the compromise, Sam wasn’t sure he could deliver. “Do you really think I’m capable of this? I mean, I already want to be with him all the time, Cas. It’s killing me.” The angel had a subtle way of getting Sam to open up to him. He knew it was happening, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You’d have to manage,” he said frankly. “But a lot of the time beats no time at all.”

Sam stood and stretched. Cas had a point, but he still didn’t like it. “Well, he might not even go for the idea. If I bring it up, he’ll think I coerced you into it!”

“I don’t know if that’s true. He thinks the world of you, Sam,” he got up, as well. “But maybe it would be better if he heard it from me. It’s my plan. And then you two can talk about it.”

“Or you both could just tell me, now,” came a voice from the door. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

The hairs on the back of Cas’s neck raised as Sam spun to face the newcomer. “Dean,” was all the younger hunter got out.

Cas stepped between them. When Dean tilted his head to get a look at Sam, the angel blocked his view. “I know you want both of us,” he reached up and touched the man’s cheek. “It’s pretty obvious. So, umm, I thought—I had this idea—the best solution could be a compromise.” It was a lot more difficult to say when he was standing there in front of them. “The way the three of us can get through this is if you—just—didn’t have to choose at all. You get Sam, and you get me. And each of us gets you.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His head filled with opposing thoughts in turmoil over the implications. If he agreed, that meant he’d be getting serious with his own brother. He’d be volunteering for it. Committing to pursing an incestuous sexual relationship. Soulmates or not, a loud voice in his mind said it was wrong—very wrong—said he shouldn’t even be thinking about it. If he rejected the idea, he could still back out. Like it never happened. Like nothing was going on.

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. He wanted it, too, and wanted to explore it further, almost as much as he wanted to be with Cas. Who he’d be betraying. Who he’d already betrayed. But Cas was making the offer, either through real love for him or through a fear that he might lose Dean to Sam if he didn’t compromise. Maybe both.

Still, it felt wrong on both accounts. How could he do that to Cas? How could he expect him to just give up part of the rewards of being in a relationship while getting basically nothing for the sacrifice? And, moreover, how the hell could Dean do that to him just so he could become sexually and romantically involved with his own sibling?! His little brother—the kid he’d looked out for and protected his whole life. He’d given every part of himself to making sure Sam was okay, expecting nothing in return. And now, what? He wanted to take advantage. To violate the trust and the love that was there in the name of some sort of perverted interest in his own blood?!

But if the angels were to be believed, his opinion of the whole thing was flawed. This wasn’t some backwoods, banjo music type of thing. It was sanctioned, created, and supported by God! And while very few people knew about their connection, the ones that did didn’t even seem that fazed, except maybe Bobby. And for Sam? He seemed relieved. Knowing it was there simply made him feel better. His feelings and thoughts were no longer sick or misguided. They were part of a natural order, one he embraced. For him, it wasn’t a crisis. The only thing that stood in the way was Dean’s reluctance to be with him.

If nothing else, Dean didn’t want to let him down or make him feel alone and abandoned, like he imagined Sam currently felt. So, he kept his mouth shut about the obvious problems with them being attracted to each other. Sam was already torturing himself about it—he never did anything without over-thinking it. But even then, Sam’d come to the conclusion that he wanted this, wanted Dean, and, in order to have him, was willing to share him with a depressed angel he met on a phone sex hotline.

And, anyway, there was nothing on the planet Dean wouldn’t do or become for Sam. Even if he had no inclination—an idea disproven easily by their make out session in Bobby’s living room—he might still consider it on some level for the sake of giving him what he wanted.

When it came to providing an answer, Dean set his misgivings on the backburner, and let out a laugh that caught them by surprise. “What, like a threesome? Dude! That’s awesome!” Joking was pretty much the only way to approach this that he was ready to undertake. And the idea, however dissimilar to what they were actually proposing, wasn’t so bad, either.

Sam’s face turned red, “No! Umm, no, not that. Definitely not that.”

“Aww, damnit,” Dean whined. But his face changed, and he hugged the angel. “I get what you mean,” he said mostly for Cas’s benefit. “But, dude, are you sure? It kinda seems like you’d be getting the short end of the deal on this one.”

Cas nodded, holding onto him. “Yeah, I’m sure, Dean. We both are.”

He squeezed him a second time and rested his chin on Cas’s shoulder. “Okay.” After a minute, “And, uh, thank you. I mean it. Thanks, Cas.”

After a few moments of closeness, he slowly let him go, sidestepped the warding magic, and gave Sam identical treatment. Then, he stepped back, and looked from one to the other with a grin fixed in place. “So, uh, if not a threesome, what happens next?”

The angel opened the flimsy screen door and slipped past it. It banged against the frame.  From inside, he peered out at them. “I guess I give you some time to catch up.” He disappeared into the house quickly. It wasn’t up for discussion, and he didn’t want to have to debate a position he only barely supported. The compromise may have been the best option, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

Dean and Sam lingered outside. The older hunter fought an urge to go after Cas, to tell him that they could ease into it, or at the very least he and Sam could—get closer—on their own time. They could make an attempt to do it when Cas was busy or something. But it seemed like he wanted to get this step over with as soon as possible. Dean could only imagine the amount of pain this was causing for him, though he tried not to think about it at all.

Sam, conversely, hadn’t even dreamed he would have this opportunity so soon. Once the initial shock wore off, he wanted nothing else. Before Dean could even react, Sam practically tackled him. He pushed him a couple of steps and kissed him passionately along the way, until Dean’s back hit the side of the house. Sam was taller by a few inches, despite being younger, and had been since late puberty. Putting the fact to good use in this particular scenario only served to excite Sam more.

And it happened to be the sort of approach Dean especially appreciated—which was fortunate, both because Dean needed all the help he could get in accepting the situation and because Sam had no real plan of attack.

Dean certainly never spoke to him about what kinds of things drove him wild and what didn’t. He occasionally hit on women in front of him prior to Cas being in the picture, but that didn’t help at all. Sam had given it some thought, however, especially over the last week. In fact, he’d given in to fantasizing about it, and in the safety and privacy of his head, he and Dean tried so many things. And he took it a step further, imagining what would and would not work, what his soulmate might realistically enjoy.

In the end, he went with what felt right. A little force, but not too much. His left hand pinned Dean by the forearm, but his other limbs were completely free, and he could easy push back if he wanted. Every movement he made was deliberate, whether through sliding his free hand up the inside of Dean’s shirt or though an especially zealous kiss. He put his entire body into the encounter. And he pressed himself as close as possible, making no attempt to hide his intentions.

Not that he would need to. Despite nagging worries about Cas being hurt, Bobby seeing them, and the moral implications of what they were doing, with Sam this passionate, Dean could barely force himself to slow down. And how could he? Not with this much sensation and heat lighting up all the right nerves and pressure points. Not with Sam pushing this close against him and ready to do pretty much whatever Dean wanted.

But he wasn’t waiting for any commands. He had Dean’s shirt pushed all the way to his chin, and it was only because he so very much enjoyed being kissed by him that he hadn’t begun working his mouth down Dean’s chest sooner. Now that he was there, Sam needed only a little maneuvering to get low enough and was soon well into what very likely would become a hickey. He got Dean’s fly open without the slightest amount of effort and slid the garment down just low enough to spy the dip in his skin where his legs, abdomen, and pelvis met. His attention turned to that spot, where he had to drop to one knee to reach it. He pushed his tongue into his skin as far as it would go.

Dean threw his head back against the wall, and let out a breath. Blushing, “Oh God. Sam, how—how did you know to do that?”

He lifted his mouth away to answer, but he made sure his fingers found their way down into Dean’s boxers to keep him company. “That good, huh?” Dean didn’t really need to answer for Sam to know. It looked like he could barely stay upright or even bring his lips back together.

“Yeah, you think? But-uh, how did you—it’s like a thing I have,” he tried to explain past his own embarrassment. It was uncanny how quickly he went for that place. Cas had guessed it early on, too, but Dean’d already given him plenty of info to work off of. He hadn’t told Sam anything.

Silently, he asked himself if something about their connection was at least partially the cause. What if their bond meant they were just automatically good at being together? Or that they subconsciously knew things like this? Or even crazier, that they somehow communicated the information? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever find out. But if this was a preview of their future together, he was more than a little excited at the possibilities.

“Felt like the right thing to do. You know, just kinda got the idea.” He smiled. “Hey, maybe we’re soulmates.” Proud of himself for that one, he laughed, and the genuine—and quite frankly enchanting—look on his face managed to warm Dean further and help him relax. He loved that expression, and not just because the cause was often Dean or something he said. It was perfect. Unhindered happiness plus whatever innocence remained in Sam—plus something else. Love? Maybe that was the extra ingredient. If so, it’d been there forever.

Dean snorted. “Nahh.”

Sam’s lips returned to the space for a few torturous moments before halting again. “Any more of these spots I should know about?”

He raised one hand to gesture toward his cheek, but stopped halfway and instead let it rest just above Sam’s ear. “Man, you’re lazy. Uh, why don’t you, umm, find ‘em yourself?”

Grinning viciously, he returned to the area and dove in. When he couldn’t quite get the best angle, he took hold of Dean’s waistband at the back and yanked them down. His boxers met the same fate, so Sam could grip at bare skin. But as he traveled southward, Dean stopped him.

“No, wait. Stop,” he breathed, pushing Sam a few inches away. “Fuck, we can’t do this. We shouldn’t.” But he reminded himself that he didn’t want Sam to feel guilty. “Not out here,” he added.

“Why not? Come on, Dean. No one’s around,” he leaned forward, and Dean couldn’t keep him at bay.

He moaned, clenching his teeth. Merely being who and where he was provided more than enough pleasure for Dean—but Sam was no doubt completely new to the act. Giving in, he intertwined a few fingers into Sam’s soft hair until he had a good hold and gave him a little direction.

But as he grew closer and closer to climaxing right there, fear of being caught in the act took hold. Breathing hard, he carefully pulled Sam’s head back until his lips slid off of him before letting go of his hair entirely.

“I do something wrong?” he asked in a slightly dejected voice, leaning back on his heels. “I fucked it up.”

“No. God no,” he gingerly pulled his pants back up and zipped them. “No, it’s just—I can do a lot better than this.”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind, Dean. Seriously. Come back here,” he waved for him to move closer, but Dean resisted.

“No, Sam. I mean—let’s go inside. If you’re gonna do that, then-uh at least it doesn’t have to be surrounded by dirt and rusted out Buicks.” He offered him his hand, and when Sam took it, he pulled him up and back into his arms. Dean kissed him again. It was a long and energetic exchange that finished with a nibble to Sam’s bottom lip. He tasted like paradise, mixed in with sweetness and a little of Dean, too.

Sam rubbed up against him and craned his mouth down to Dean’s ear, which felt hot as his breath touched it. “How are we gonna get past the hunter convention inside and make it upstairs without anyone noticing? Cas might have Bobby distracted,” he chewed on Dean’s earlobe, “but Ellen or Rufus—they’re gonna wonder what’s up.”

Dean ran his fingertips down Sam’s arm. “Yeah, I figured we’d take the elevator.” When Sam pulled away to look at him with confusion, Dean raised an eyebrow. “You know, the jet-powered angel elevator.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

He shook his head. “Shouldn’t. Not anymore. This is new and improved mojo. The trickster outfitted me with airbags.” He kissed him just below his chin. “And it’s like no distance at all.”

Sam chuckled. “Never thought I’d see you volunteer to fly anywhere.”

“Hey,” he faked seriousness, “I’ll take magic crazy soul wings over a flying coffin any day. Planes actually crash, Sammy.”

“Yeah, okay.” He threw his arms around Dean and hung on tight. With Sam well-secured, he reached inside and unfolded the sheets of energy that composed Cas’s wings. He could feel every part of them, and now, too, the protective icy sheen Gabriel’d covered them with. But he couldn’t see them at all, and they moved through objects like the wall behind him with not so much as a strange feeling. He brought them forward a little to see if touching Sam with them would change anything, but it was like he wasn’t even there. His hair blew back a little, though, and there wasn’t a breeze.

With a single intentional wing beat, in an instant they were in Dean’s room. They stumbled toward the bed, half due to being thrown off-balance and half from unhindered and clumsy kissing and touching. Right before impact, Sam tripped Dean on purpose, and he fell back. It was a move they’d used on each other dozens of times in sparring sessions. He climbed on top of him, stripped off his shirt, and set about undoing his jeans.


	18. Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Dean’s next move was to take off his own shirt. His efforts were slowed, however, by the sight before him.

He knew Sam’d been on a health kick, shunning the greasy diner food and booze for smoothies and salads and all sorts of things Dean would never be caught dead eating. And he knew by merit of constantly being around him that he worked out, especially now that they weren’t taking many jobs. But none of this information prepared him for what his kid brother looked like now.  
  
Sam didn’t have even half an inch of fat on him—anywhere. He was all muscle. Dean knew he didn’t stack up in that respect, and he wasn’t exactly out of shape, either. And he couldn’t stop gawking. He lay there with a dumbfounded look on his face until Sam got tired of waiting and smacked him with a pillow. “I’m fine doing all the work, but you could at least take this off!” he tugged on the shirt impatiently.

Dean complied, and before long, nothing got between them. Sam repositioned himself between Dean’s legs and pulled them up until his knees touched Sam’s chest. With one hand on Dean’s waist and the other on the mattress to steady himself, Sam thrust forward—

—and Dean got out of the way just in time. “Whoa! Whoa, hey now. Fuck! Sammy, hold on,” he twisted on the bed, reaching into the nightstand to his right. He produced a small plastic bottle with a clear liquid inside and handed it over to him. Sam looked it over for only a few seconds before squeezing his eyes closed, mortified. “Right, because that wouldn’t hurt you or anything. So, I just—everywhere?”

“Everywhere important,” he breathed. “And-uh, go easy,” he hated to have to say that, “at least ‘til you get the hang of it, okay?”

Sam nodded and took his time applying the stuff, on himself first, and then carefully on Dean.  He waited, watching the diligent work with more curiosity than impatience. Sam’d really never done anything like this before. Hell, he’d probably not even thought about it apart from very recently. But so long as Dean helped with the mechanics a little—and he was no stranger to being a teacher in most other aspects of their lives—it didn’t really matter.

And it didn’t hurt that pretty much everything he did only turned Dean on more. The light touching, the re-repositioning, and, of course, the slow and cautious first push. He gritted his teeth in preparation for any pain, but by and large, Sam’s first try wasn’t that off-target. And neither was his second go. He was so incredibly careful, even as the thrusts grew more frequent and just a little more forceful.

When Dean let out a moan and gripped at the quilt beneath him, concern flashed across Sam’s face. But he worked his expression into a broad smile. “Just like that,” he directed. “Exactly like that.”

Relieved, Sam tried to replicate the motion, listening to him breathe and watching his face. He couldn’t quite get the angle perfect every time, but he got very close. Just the movement itself seemed to bring him nearer and nearer to a climax, but when he hit the right area—the noises Dean made—moaning and quick exhaling—it was pretty much the hottest thing ever. And it got better as time passed. The utterances only increased in frequency, and likewise, Sam made every attempt to bring them out, pushing into him as far as he could go and even bending over him a bit to get better leverage.

The tactic paid off. He could feel the muscles in Dean’s calves tighten against him. And the same was true with nearly every other muscle he had, including the ones deep inside him. “Oh, man,” Sam muttered, driving into the more snug space with added enthusiasm. His head swam with how overwhelmingly great it felt.

He was still focusing on that when Dean gripped him at both forearms and, through half-closed eyelids, gave him a look of utter vulnerability. In the next instant, laboring to fill his lungs with air, Dean came. Warmth surged against Sam’s skin just below his navel and trickled down to his leg.

Some time passed before Dean finally relaxed. His grasp loosened. Sam withdrew, resting his head on Dean’s knees and smiling down at him. “You make the greatest faces,” he laughed.

Dean closed his eyes slowly. As his breathing returned to normal, he took stock of the situation. “Hey, you didn’t get off, did you?”

Still protective and concerned, as always. But it didn’t feel suffocating or awkward, anymore. “Well, not yet!” he countered. “To be honest, I just wanted to see you—you know. I got distracted. It’s your fault!”

Dean cracked a smile. “Sorry.”

“So, if you aren’t gonna fall asleep right away—” But a loud thump on the ground level of Bobby’s house stopped him mid-sentence. Dean sat up instinctively, and the movement jarred him a little. Seconds later, he slid away from Sam, wiped himself down quickly with an old t-shirt, and was already pulling his jeans back on. Sam grimaced. “Angels?”

“You can’t hear it?” he stopped halfway through climbing into his shirt. When Sam clearly didn’t understand, his gaze fell to the floor. So, he had more than just the wings, after all. “Yeah, they’re fucking everywhere. There’s three—no, two—downstairs and a whole pileup outside.” He reached for one of his guns and checked it, but set it back down. It wouldn’t do any good. Only a special sword, maybe some symbols, and burning holy oil could combat these things, and they had none of that at their disposal in Dean’s room.

Not even the protective magic. He couldn’t sleep in the same room with it, so they painted the mildest sigil on the outer part of the house and covered the nearby rooms in the stronger stuff, leaving his bedroom essentially empty. It wasn’t enough to keep Dean and Sam from flying in, and he was anything but an immortal, pissed off, and supercharged creature from above.

“There’s only one on the ground floor, now,” he corrected himself. “And I think it’s wounded.” He thought about the situation for a moment. “I’m gonna fly back down—head in though the side door. You should get dressed and get to a safer room.”

Like hell. If the others were in trouble, he was gonna help them. But there was no use arguing over it. Dean had no intention of watching Sam die at the hands of an angel again, or anything for that matter, and he would take every single precaution to prevent it. So, rather than start a fight, Sam ignored the last part. “You think it’s a good idea to go outside with more of them out there?”

He tossed Sam’s clothes at him. “It’s like walkin’ through a maze in this house. I can’t go very fast, and it hurts like hell if I try.” Shoving his boots on, he marched over to the external wall. “You see any of those bastards, you run like hell in the other direction. You hear me, Sammy? You run.”

Dean was gone before Sam could reply. He stared at the empty space for only a moment before cleaning himself off and getting dressed. Trying to stay calm, he poked his head out. The empty hall seemed safe enough, as did the staircase down to the first floor. He took it as quietly as possible, holding onto the railing.

Once there, he found the three hunters unharmed, though cowering in a corner of Bobby’s study. Rufus—the snarky, middle aged African-American hunter Bobby had known for decades—still had a gun raised, but he lowered it when he saw the newcomer was Sam.

Between them were two dead angels. Ashy outlines of their wings lay scattered across the floor. Nearby stood Castiel, who labored to help a wounded Balthazar remain vertical. The vessel bled from four or five wounds, but even as Sam tried to discern whether or not Bal would live, they slowly began to heal before his eyes.

“Where’s Dean?!” Cas shouted at him, shifting his weight to better support the wounded angel. “Tell me he’s not outside.”

Sam froze. “I-I couldn’t stop him.”

“Oh, you stupid—” But Cas couldn’t decide on an appropriate insult to use. He was too angry. He took a few steps with Bal toward the hunters and pointed at Rufus. “You. Come here. Right now,” he ordered in such a commanding matter that Sam was thrown off-guard. “Help her.” He demanded, gesturing with his angel-killing sword. When Rufus finally moved, Cas ducked out from under Bal’s arm, and the hunter took his place. Moments later, with a brief sneer in Sam’s direction, he marched to the back door and kicked it open. Sam followed him but kept his distance.

They found the porch and dirt yard deserted. “Fuck!” the angel cursed and punched the screen door.

He shoved his way past Sam to return to the study. One part furious and one part frantic, Cas moved from window to window in an attempt to locate their missing companion. Sam joined Bobby and the others and looked them over for injury. “You guys okay?” he asked in a quiet voice.

The men both nodded. Ellen, an older hunter with a persistent air of tough love and motherliness, was too busy trying to make sure Bal didn’t lose consciousness to answer. She held Bal’s head in both hands and kept it from drooping. When even that didn’t seem to stop the vessel’s eyes from closing, she shook her. “C’mon now. Stay awake, ya hear? I dunno a damn thing about angel first aid, so you gotta stay awake and heal yourself, honey. Hey, what’d you say her name was?”

“Balthazar,” Cas replied from across the room. “Bal.”

“Bal? Okay, Bal, stay with me,” she continued, lightly slapping her on the cheek, “C’mon.” But her efforts proved futile, and Balthazar passed out, sliding out of Rufus’s grasp and slumping onto Ellen’s shoulder. “Damnit.”

“I don’t think she’s gonna die. The wounds are already closing,” Sam pointed out. “She might just need a battery recharge.”

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do? Just wait here for a damn army to break all the doors down?” Bobby had picked up one of the dead angel’s swords, and he held it tightly, even though he had no confidence in his ability to use it effectively.

Cas squinted out one of the windows. “It’ll take only one. Raphael.”

There was a slam to the side of the house, followed shortly by another. “They’re just gonna ram us until somethin’ breaks?” Rufus grumbled.

“I guess,” Sam answered.

The beating and scraping was not consistent, though, nor particularly violent enough to damage the building. It went on for several minutes before any of the building’s occupants gained insight into what it was.

And the answer came in the form of a loud crash at the window to Cas’s left. Through it burst two figures in the midst of a struggle. Glass flew everywhere. Papers picked up with a gust of wind and filled the air around the two. One was a bulky, muscular male vessel with no hair, dressed in basketball shorts and a sleeveless shirt. The other was Dean.

They fought above the rest, eventually hitting the ceiling.

There, Dean attacked with everything he had, repeatedly hitting the creature around the face and neck. The blows came quickly, darting through the air and connecting with little damage. But he tried, anyway. His muscles burned, and his knuckles were bloodied and cut. There was a wound on his head—at least one. Upon further examination, Sam could see his lip was spit open, too.

Painfully slow and labored wing beats kept them off the floor, but fatigue quickly set in. As much as he fought the angel with everything he had, he also attempted to use the angel’s superior stamina to remain airborne. That way, he could focus as much of his energy on trying to beat the life out of him. They each had no weapons, he’d made sure of that, but in a fight of sheer physical strength, he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

But despite the strangeness of a human fighting an angel on the ceiling, the others were not easily gripped by surprise or fear. And they were not willing to watch Dean get killed, only to then be in danger from the attacker. Bobby broke from the pack first and strode quickly across the room until he was directly below them. Peering up, he tossed the sword in Dean’s direction, and it lodged a foot or so away from his reach.

“Nice aim there, Bobby,” Rufus muttered.

Dean struggled, beating the air with his loaner wings and hitting the angel between his eyes. He kicked out and dug his nails into the creature’s skin. Eventually, he rolled out of the way of a strike and broke free, tumbling through the air toward the ground. Combating utter exhaustion, he clawed back through the air and reached as far as he could make his arm go. It threatened to cramp, to lock up, but he didn’t care. Sweating and in pain, he made one final push—and was rewarded with the feel of cold metal.

With all of his weight behind it, Dean yanked the blade out of the plaster ceiling, and pieces fell to the floor around Bobby’s feet. He pushed off and took hold of the angel. Gravity and the length of their battle caught the soldier off guard. They fell. Bobby scurried out of the way just in time, and Dean twisted so that the brunt of the harsh landing was absorbed by the vessel’s back, and not by himself.

And he didn’t hesitate. He plunged the sword into the creature’s heart. It writhed beneath him. White light shone from the wound, and from his mouth and eyes, just as blood from the man who once owned the body gushed out around the weapon. He pulled it out and drove it into the angel’s chest again—and again. The third hit did his foe in. He shut his eyes, and Sam and Cas directed the others to do the same, as the room lit up in a flash. When it cleared, the angel was dead, and the remnants of his wings stained the floor with his two fallen associates.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Dean moved only enough to get off of the corpse. He sat splattered in the thing’s blood and still holding the sword as though it might spring back to life. The room’s other occupants, minus Bal and Cas, stared at him the exact way he feared they might: with fear. Men were supposed to be powerless against angels. They couldn’t fly, they couldn’t put up a fight, and they certainly couldn’t go a few rounds with one and keep breathing.

But Dean was alive, and the asshole was dead. He wiped the blade off on his sleeve. Cas moved to check him over, but Dean stopped him with one hand in the air. He stood slowly, staring at the humans. “Gimme a couple of beers, and I’ll take a few more of these fuckers out,” he boasted. Maybe after a long nap and a day or so of recovery, but they didn’t need to hear that part. Better they saw the hunting value in his new abilities, than saw him as something that should be hunted.

“You almost got killed,” Sam objected.

“We always almost get killed,” he countered, patting him on the shoulder, “and I still ganked the guy.”

But Sam was not in the mood to play along. As much as Dean insisted on being protective of him, he wanted more than most things to reverse the roles, especially when Dean couldn’t be trusted to look out for himself. He leaned in close enough to speak without the others hearing. “Don’t be an idiot, dude,” he chastised. “You don’t have to prove yourself—to anyone.”

He smiled, more for their audience than for him. He knew Sam would be able to see through it. “No?” his voice was barely audible. “Maybe I don’t have to prove anything to you, Sammy, but I gotta use this stuff on the bad guys, or our friends here will start thinkin’ I’m one of them.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’? Of course you don’t have to—god damnit, Dean,” he scolded louder than he probably should have. “There is nothing— _nothing_ —that you have to prove or demonstrate to me. And I’m not gonna let you get killed over this. It’s stupid and reckless,” he dropped his voice back down, “and I’m just not okay losing you. Not at all.”

Before Dean could drum up a response, a groan from across the room broke in. “Listen to your better half, and you will live longer, Dean Winchester,” came from the now semi-lucid Balthazar. “This is not your war, however capable you foolishly think you are.”

He snorted and turned away from Sam. With Bal awake again, the hunters’ anxiety eased slightly, and they emerging from their hideout in the corner to get some much-needed personal space. Ellen held onto the angel for just long enough to satisfy her concerns before letting Bal go. Both stood and brushed themselves off.

“These are pawns,” Bal continued, motioning toward the dead bodies on Bobby’s floor. “And their king is due for a visit any moment. This building is not safe. You all must go. Right now.”

“Go where?!” Bobby asked what they all thought. “I dunno if you happened to notice, lady, but we’re kinda surrounded and outgunned here, and we ain’t got nowhere else to go. And if you’re looking for some mass human sacrifice, I prolly got some Kool-aid lyin’ around here somewhere. That’d be easier, and I don’t gotta get my damn boots on.”

She tilted her head to one side, and a cracking noise came from the motion. Rolling her eyes, “Do you have another location near a large body of water? Another house, a cabin? The more isolated, the better.”

“Yeah, I got a place, up in Red Lake,” Rufus answered first.

“Minnesota?!” Bobby reacted. “How the hell are we gonna make it to Minnesota? And how does water help? You gonna do a christening?!”

But Bal ignored him and instead walked over to Rufus. She placed the palm of her hand on his forehead. “Show me what it looks like. Think about it. Be specific.”

Rufus closed his eyes, and she did, as well. After less than a minute, she opened them and stepped away. “Gather your essentials quickly. Only what you can carry. Whatever you cannot take will be provided. Go now. You have five minutes.”

The first to move was Bobby. He strode over to a closet and picked up a duffel bag, prefilled and ready for occasions just like this. With a grunt, he threw a few additional items into it—mostly books and booze. Ellen and Rufus’s things hadn’t been unpacked, so they merely scooped them up off of a nearby couch and slung them over their shoulders. Cas disappeared up the stairs, and Sam followed right behind him. They set about quickly collecting theirs and Dean’s things while the older Winchester stayed put in the direct center of the room—the only place that didn’t feel dreadful.

“You’re gonna fly all of us there?” he asked Bal skeptically.

“Yes,” she paced over to the two who were ready, put one hand on each of them, and the three vanished. But Bal was back in the next instant. “Good. It is right on the water.”

“Could you fill us in on why that matters?” Sam appeared at the base of the stairway carrying two large bags. Cas was a couple of steps behind him. What few possessions he had fit easily into a single backpack, with room enough for spillover items from the brothers.

Bal winked. “You will know when it is convenient for me to tell you,” she said with clear condescension. She beckoned Cas and Bobby to her side, and they obeyed. She took them next before returning for the final pick up. “Your wings must fold in,” she instructed, “or they will rip off, and you will certainly die.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sugarcoat things, do you?” But he pulled them back into himself as fast as possible. The last thing he wanted was to endanger anyone, and with Bal still in South Dakota with them, she wasn’t protecting the others. Sam gave him a bag full of his stuff. His hand lingered on Dean’s arm for a few seconds, and he looked at him reassuringly. Without any further comment, Bal grabbed both of them and took off.

The cold breeze, laced with smells of pine and water, hit them before the view did. Bal’d set them down on a small boat dock that extended out from an equally small cabin covered in moss. Red Lake was big enough so that the far end wasn’t visible from where they stood, but on both sides they could only see trees. No other cabins. There certainly were others in a prime location like this, but they were hidden from view, and in all likelihood, their new safe house was equally private.

“You will not need sigils for this place,” Bal explained with a new air of calmness. “The closer you are to the lake, the safer you will be. This is very important. Do not leave. I will check on you after a few days.”

She was gone before either of them could respond.


	19. With a Little Help from My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Cas joined them on the dock the moment Bal was gone. Looking around, “Something strange is going on,” he said quietly.

Dean reached over and smoothed down a stray piece of Cas’s hair. “You mean other than an archangel lookin’ to nuke all of us?”

“Water isn’t an angel deterrent,” he pointed out. “At all.”

“Yeah, kinda figured that,” Dean started walking toward the cabin, and the other two followed him. “So, best guess is that Bal’s got some kind of weapon that needs water around to work?”

“Nothing I remember does that.” But, of course, there was plenty he didn’t remember.

Dean set his bag down near the front door. “Maybe it’s not an angel weapon. It could be somethin’ else. Nobody’s really following the rules anymore. What’a we know that needs water?”

Leaning against a post, Sam sighed. “Literally hundreds of things, Dean. We can rule out some of the really specific stuff, because Balthazar didn’t seem to care what water source we went to. But there’s still tons of creatures, half a dozen types of spirits, a bunch of stuff we don’t know for sure exists or not, and pretty much every old culture has a water god.”

“Trying to guess may be a waste of time,” Cas opened the door and walked in. Going in, he encountered their three companions setting up their gear in the main room. Everything was made of rough wood, and there was only a large living room with a tiny kitchen and one bedroom in the back. Two small bedrooms and a bath made up the second floor. The group would have to share accommodations.

“He seems a little tense,” Sam said once he had him alone.

Dean’s expression hardened. “I’ll talk to him.”

Inside, they found the cupboards and fridge completely filled with provisions, despite Rufus not having been there in months. Beer and red wine, fresh fruit and vegetables, meats and raw fish, every kind of name-brand cereal Sam liked, the exact type of whiskey Rufus and Bobby drank, Ellen’s favorite kind of yogurt with granola to go with it, all the trimmings necessary to make bacon cheeseburgers for Dean, and even cherry _Twizzlers_ —practically an addiction of Cas’s as a human. It was creepy how much food had been mysteriously provided, and how much of it was exactly what each of them would want.

Cas picked up one of the candies and stuck it in his mouth before plopping down on a couch. Chewing, “Gabriel could do this,” he remarked.

“But he couldn’t keep Raphael at bay,” Sam returned.

“And water wouldn’t help at all,” Cas added. “But the food could still be him.”

Dean picked up an apple but set it down without taking a bite, “Maybe.” He wondered if it might be poisoned, but as the group had their fill—and survived—he eventually warmed to the offerings. He made himself a sizable portion of nachos in the microwave and dug in, and had a few beers to go with it. Sam tended to the gash on Dean’s head with a damp cloth and cleaned the blood off of him, but apart from that interaction—which unknown to the others was rather intimate—they kept their distance.

As night fell, they worked out sleeping arrangements. Bobby would take the couch when he was ready, and Rufus settled in to the first floor bedroom. Above, Ellen staked out a spot in the smaller bedroom, which left the three to share close quarters in the largest room. Ellen, Bobby, and Sam didn’t seem especially tired, though, with the first too sitting fairly close in front of the cabin’s small TV. The opportunity of supposed safety, along with the food and drink, provided them a rare chance to have a little fun, and they seemed to embraced it.

Under the guise of battle fatigue, Dean and Cas took their leave. But once Castiel closed the door behind them, they dropped the act. Dean kissed him right away, going as slowly as he could make himself. Cas returned the act in a gentle, almost weak fashion, running his thumb across the hunter’s jaw line. Stalling, Dean held him there against the door, taking everything in. The way he smelled—always sweet and clean—the way he felt—skin a little rough due to him never quite getting a really close shave. He knew it all so well by now, but it was a surprise every time. How perfect he seemed and how strange at the same time. Not a human but trying so hard to be one, and not an angel any longer, either.

Dean eventually moved a few inches away. “You’re pissed, right?” he asked reluctantly.

Cas looked at him for a long time, but eventually shook his head. “No.”

“Then what? It’s Sam, right? What can I do? Just tell me. How do I fix it?” He kissed him again.

“I just haven’t gotten used to it, yet. I don’t think I really wanna share you with him, Dean, even though I have to,” he explained. “And I know he feels the same way about me.”

Dean pressed his cheek against Cas’s and took up both of his hands in his own. “Sam’ll get over it,” he assured him. “I’m not worried about him, man. He’s stuck with me, you know? But us—we actually gotta put effort into it, which makes this harder. And I don’t envy you for what you gotta put up with.” Another kiss. “But this just means that I’m gonna have to spend a little more time working for it with you—and I want to. You’re worth that and a lot more, Cas. And when you need me—and I’m dead serious, okay?—even if I’m with Sam, you just tell me. You tell me, and you got it.”

“I need you.”

He took on a warm smile and brought one of Cas’s knuckles to his lips, “Then you got me. Easy as that.”

Castiel let out a breath, but his expression didn’t change. “Nothing about this is easy, Dean.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Maybe not, but for that part, it’ll be simple. I’m on-call for angel loving twenty four/seven.”

“You don’t think Sam will—”

“I’ll make it up to him. I’m not gonna leave him out in the cold, either. Let me worry about that, okay?” He pulled himself up enough to plant a kiss on Cas’s forehead. “All this means is I gotta pull a double shift. I’m pretty sure I can handle that.”

Cas gave in. “We’re gonna wear you out.”

“I’m already worn out!” he gestured toward the recent damage to his head.

The angel inspected it with an animal-like curiosity. Then, he turned his attention to his clothing. Carefully sliding Dean’s jacket off, he motioned toward the bed. “Well, you can rest up tonight if you want, but I’m gonna wear you out again in the morning.”

“Not sure I can wait that long.”

***

Sam stumbled in around three a.m. The two had long since finished a short but exciting exchange, despite sore muscles. They’d fallen asleep sans attire, with Cas’s head resting on Dean’s stomach and the majority of his body lying between the hunter’s legs. For what wasn’t thankfully hidden through Cas facing down, a sheet just barely covered part of him. By and large, though, more of him was visible than Sam would’ve liked to see.

Dean awoke the moment the door unlatched. A lifetime of light sleeping and always being on alert made it almost impossible to return to their living quarters without disturbing him. He peered through the darkness at the figure silhouetted in light from the landing and brought one finger to his lips to signal Sam to be quiet. There was no reason Cas had to wake up, too.

But the angel slept like a rock. Getting him up in the morning wasn’t easy, and Dean chalked it up to the added stress from forcing angel parts into a body that wasn’t supposed to house them. After all, he felt exhausted beyond belief whenever he jetted around, so maybe the same went for Cas just keeping himself in one piece. It seemed to be improving, though, since Gabriel’s intervention.

So, Dean didn’t worry too much when he reached over and switched a small table lamp onto the lowest setting. Sam shut the door gingerly, slipped off his shoes, and folded himself into an old chair near Dean’s left. It was the only other piece of furniture in the room, and he didn’t want the noise it would take to move it away from the bed. Self-conscious and well-aware of the awkwardness, Dean covered Cas up a little more with the sheet, until only his feet, upper back, and head were visible.

“Talk go well, I take it?” Sam whispered.

Dean didn’t try to hide the afterglow. “Uh, yeah. I’d say.”

“That’s good,” he curled up a little tighter. Dean handed him a pillow, trying to move as little as possible. He took it, and wedged it under his ear. The back of his hand grazed Sam’s cheek. Such a small action still managed to send warmth through him. “Are you in love with me?” Sam asked, seemingly out of nowhere. But he’d been thinking it all day.

The question threw Dean off-guard. He wanted to sit up, look him in the eye, pace around—anything but have to keep quiet and stay in bed. But this wasn’t a conversation for Cas, and he didn’t want to deprive him of their closeness, either. “Hey, you know I love you, Sam. C’mon, of course.”

“No,” he gulped, holding onto the pillow with both fists. “That’s not what I mean. Or maybe it is. I dunno. What I’m talking about is what you have with him. You have chemistry. You have that feeling when you look at someone, and you can’t breathe, and it kinda even hurts, but you know because that person’s gonna be there for you that it’ll be okay. Just so long as you can get close, and you can rely on them, and they feel the same way about you. You feel like you can’t even exist on your own, but you can’t think of a time when you felt better. In love, Dean. Being in love. Freakin’ drowning in it.”

“That how you feel?” he kept his eyes on him.

His lower lip twitched. “Uh, yeah. I have been. And now it’s all the time.”

“Then yes. Yeah, Sammy,” Dean said faster than he thought he’d be able to. Then, “I do. But, uh—one difference. And it’s the same with Cas. Not ‘rely on.’ But be relied on. Knowing I’m needed. It’s a pretty great feeling. Everything else is right, though.”

Sam looked about to cry, but he stifled it, covering his mouth. It took him a little while before he could recover. “You could rely on me, too, if you had to. If you wanted to.”

“Dude, I already do,” he caressed his cheek again. “I just don’t let you know about it.” Sam’s mouth dropped open, and his glassy eyes gave Dean a look made of equal parts disbelief and happiness. Dean smiled, “You better not cry on me, man. I’ll kick your ass, I swear.”

“I’d probably like it,” he laughed, sniffing.

Dean shushed him. “Later then. I’m too damn tired.”

“Promise?”

He glared at him but couldn’t hold the seriousness for long. Blushing, he gave Sam a big grin. The younger Winchester turned out the light and both soon fell asleep. The next morning, Sam snuck out before Cas regained consciousness.

***

He awoke with a start. Fuck, not this dream again. Maybe it was their proximity to the lake, along with an unhealthy dose of the anxiety he now carried around, but whatever the reason, he’d had it three nights in a row so far. Sitting up, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Unlike the previous nights, his sudden movement roused Cas, whose arm extended toward Dean and touched his side. “Nightmare?” he asked sleepily.

Dean didn’t know how much to tell him. The subject was still so alien, and the emotions about it were raw and painful, like a newly scuffed knee. “I keep having this dream or flashback or something.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s, uh, it’s Sam. When we were younger. We went to a lake like this one while Dad was on a job by himself, and we spent all day there. It was actually pretty great—fishing, hiking, just sitting around outside. But the dream keeps focusing on the part when we went swimming. Well, when Sam did. I wouldn’t go in.”

Cas sat upright and wrapped his arms around him. “Couldn’t swim?” he teased.

“No,” he laughed nervously. “We didn’t, umm—we didn’t have swim trunks or anything. We never spent money on stuff like that. But Sam didn’t care. And I did.”

“You think it’s because seeing him naked like that made you uncomfortable?” He stopped just short of adding “ _Or turned you on?_ ” He didn’t think that would go well.

“I know it did.”

He shrugged. “So, what’s the problem? You feel guilty because it was before you two were together?”

“I feel guilty because he was like fifteen, Cas.”

“And you were, what? Nineteen?” He kissed him on the cheek. “I think you’re looking at this the wrong way, Dean. I mean, do you know how soulmates actually come to be? Gabriel explained it a little. They’re two souls made at the same time. And they meet in Heaven, and they’re instantly drawn to each other. But they’re the same age. They have to be in order to bump into each other right when it matters.” Cas licked his lips as he got his thoughts in order. “Now, usually, that means the souls are released at the same time, or very close. But not in every instance. When they’re not, there’s always a reason. Always. I actually thought about this for awhile when we first found out.”

“Oh yeah? Why?” Dean honestly thought Cas preferred not to spend too much time on the subject.

He buried his nose behind Dean’s ear. “The age difference, and you two being brothers—it’s weird. Not the relationship itself, but that it happened like that. That you both were made this way. It’s not typical at all, because it’s not the kindest thing to do. Making you wait, and knowing that this society would not approve. But it’s like God really wanted to make sure you two met, and that was more important than whether or not anything ever happened between you.” He squeezed him tightly. “So, I tried to figure out why Sam was delayed. Maybe if I knew that, everything else would make more sense.” Before Dean could respond, “But I don’t believe he was. I actually think you were sent early.”

“Because you think I’m immature?” He narrowed his eyes at him.

“No! Not at all.” Cas planted a big kiss on his neck. Dean could be immature at times, but the angel didn’t think it had anything to do with his soul. “I’m saying you needed to be big enough to carry Sam out of a burning house.”

Dean turned enough to stare at him blankly. “Dude, what?”

“I know it seems strange. Why wouldn’t God just make Sam old enough to walk on his own, or just stop the demon entirely from hurting your family? I don’t know why He allows bad things to happen. And I don’t understand His choices, either. But I’ve seen His work before, and I’m pretty sure that this was His reason. So that you could protect Sam and save him—not even just that one time but over and over—you had to be older. He needed someone to look up to, and who better than his soulmate?” Cas’s eyes grew distant. After a long pause, “You shouldn’t feel bad, Dean.”

“Yeah, I still do.”

“I don’t see why you’re forcing yourself to be miserable. There’s no way anyone will ever think you seduced him, age difference or not. He loves you, and if it’s any consolation, he’s had eyes for you a lot longer than you have for him. I’m not just talking a few weeks.”

He groaned. “God damnit. The inn?”

“Mmm-hmm. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if it goes back farther than that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?! I thought he didn’t—oh, fuck.”

Of course Sam remembered. Why else would he seem so relieved, both when they first found out about the bond and when they eventually touched for real?

Cas’s grasp loosened. “I promised him I wouldn’t, Dean. Besides, it doesn’t really matter now. You love each other. The specifics of when it started and how aren’t that important.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing, Cas.”

What the hell had he gotten himself into? He felt guilty all the time—for half a dozen different reasons—practically to the point of becoming sick. It was awful. And though he found himself wanting Sam, too, he didn’t know how to process that. It simply didn’t fit with the rest of his life up until this point.

But he didn’t even have a choice. The feeling was so strong—and getting stronger with every passing day…

The angel guided him back down to the bed so he could lay facing him. He ran his fingers over Dean’s arm and kissed him. “You don’t have to. You and Sam—you kinda just have to wade through it together. Like with any other relationship. But if it helps, you two are doing pretty well so far, all things considered. I mean, even with what happened last year. It wasn’t just Sam making a drunken pass at you, Dean. Not the way I understand it. When he felt vulnerable and scared, he turned to you. That’s how it’s supposed to go. And you two talk to each other, and listen. You understand each other. This is the stuff relationships need to work. You already have everything you need.”

Dean pulled him closer. “Do we do all that?”

“Uh, yeah. We’re doing it right now!” He snickered. Did Dean really think that this didn’t count as listening and talking? Cas couldn’t imagine a more caring thing to do than comfort him and give him useful advice when he was hurting. And, anyway, that was probably one of the few ways the angel could help.

“Okay, good.”

***

The next few days were quiet to the point of driving them all to cabin fever. The group lasted for only a short time before needing some serious space from each other.

Rufus and Bobby went fishing, since if being near the water was safe, being on it must be more so. Ellen and Sam separately found the area to be good for a little exercise, with the older woman disappearing for hours at a time in the woods—armed, of course—and Sam going for regular jogs on the trails that ran alongside the lake. The remaining two stuck closer to the cabin. With the others gone, it wasn’t so stuffy, and Dean and Cas could spend a lot of time together uninterrupted.

As they settled into their fifth day there, Dean found himself alone for the first time in months. Sam was on another run, and Cas had left in anticipation of the brother’s return. They’d had plenty of one-on-one time—it was Sam’s turn. And anyway, he cited wanting to skip stones and look for fossils along the shore, an activity he asserted Dean would find incredibly boring if he tried to tag along.

But at as soon as the angel left, Sam texted saying he’d taken a different route and didn’t anticipate being back for at least an hour or so, leaving Dean to watch one of three channels the cabin’s old TV picked up. Sighing, he settled in with some mint chocolate chip ice cream—which he ate directly out of the giant container it came in—and waited.

***

There were some pretty good trails to the west, but the single traversable one in the east was a challenge, with steep inclines, rocks, and a few downed trees. But that was exactly why he wanted to attempt it. That, and it took him much closer to the lake, so the scenery was more interesting. He even surprised a blue heron and got to watch it take off with its giant wingspan.

He didn’t turn around until he saw other cabins. The last thing they wanted was a lot of interaction with other people, especially if the battle came to them here. The fewer people who knew they were occupying Rufus’s cabin, the less likely those people could become collateral damage.

On his return trip, however, he spotted a figure bent down to the water. He looked for a way to avoid her, but there was only one trail, and briars riddled every inch of the underbrush. So, he did the next best thing. He donned headphones and blared music—a techno-hip hop remix to be exact, though he would never have admitted that to Dean—and jogged toward the woman. He would just smile and keep going. No interaction. Just a jogger headed down a trail joggers frequented. Joggers with music playing didn’t stop for conversations in forests unless they really wanted to. Joggers just jogged.

Except that as he passed her, she called his name. “Oh, hiya, Sam!” the cheery tone did nothing to quell his sudden, instinctual alarm. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly reached down to shut off the music. He wasn’t armed, and now he severely regretted it.

“A little far from Rapid City, aren’t you, Sheriff?” he thought about trying to make a run for it, but they were at least a mile away from even possibly being in earshot of the cabin.

She laughed, rising up from a crouched position. Sure enough, when he turned to look, the person or creature or whatever that stood before him appeared exactly like the cop he’d met on his excursion across South Dakota. But she didn’t wear a uniform, and her curly locks now extended wildly around her shoulders and down her back. When she smiled, her eyes—with amber-like irises—flashed bright blue for an instant before returning to normal. “I’m on vacation.”

“Right, well, this is a great place for it. I hear the fishing’s halfway decent this time of year.” He turned and started to walk away, but of course it wasn’t that easy.

“You know, I empathize with you, Sam,” she walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He froze. “I sympathize,” when she bobbed her head like a wolf or wild cat eyeing up prey, he got the impression she was a lot older and stranger than she looked. “You were deprived of a mother, Sam. It’s true. But everyone should have a mother. Everyone needs one. Sure, you had a _father_ , but any man can be a father if he so chooses. Your friend Bobby can attest to that. But as a human, as a little boy, you only really get one mother. Yours.”

He coughed. “You get a play date from a demon, too?”

“No, Sam. I empathize because I have lost my children. I am a mother, myself, and my children have been taken from me. Abused. Corrupted. Deprived of their mother. Orphaned. Just like you have been orphaned, Sam. And by the same foe.”

“The devil?”

“A bigger bastard than that, unfortunately. The Judeo-Christian God.” When he looked skeptical, “If you will allow me, I’d like to tell you a story about humans and the decision to create you.”

“You can start by telling me who and what you actually are,” he demanded.

She chuckled. “I already did, Sam!”

In his thoughts, he called up the name she’d given him and tried to connect it to anything he’d read about over the years and years of study. “Maya? Or LaSiren?” He’d probably seen it before, but he just couldn’t remember.

“I have many names, and each of those are parts of them. Yemaya is another.”

He racked his brain. It sounded familiar, and now LaSiren did, as well. He recognized them both from past research—on demigods. “Voodoo?!” he eventually exclaimed. “But Yemaya is a goddess of oceans. This lake is landlocked.”

“Go a little older, Sam. My followers began their worship on the coasts of Africa, which also happens to be in the general vicinity of where your entire race began. Tell me do you think that is a coincidence? And I favor all water, regardless of salinity.” As she spoke, her voice dropped the Midwestern dialect, and took on one he didn’t recognize.

“So, you’re saying you made humans?”

“We made you, as a collective. Five of the strongest. Myself, creator and mother of all life as it sprung from the oceans and from Africa; the great goddess of wealth who is now called Lakshmi; the ancient couple Izanagi and Izanami, who crafted the lands and squelched the fires that once consumed earth; and Yahweh, the youthful newcomer and crafter of energy we trusted too soon. We each put our best qualities into you. Love of family, of friendship, of the land. The ability to produce more than just duplicates of yourselves. Great intelligence for mortal bodies. Great power within yourselves that granted you access to the heavens.”

“But all things must have flaws,” she continued. “And we bickered over what those should be. We each picked one in our own image. Overly protective, greedy, lustful and destructive—but Yahweh chose to put in a need to worship. The rest of us drew our power elsewhere, so we did not see it as a threat. Only lesser creatures needed devotion. But what we did not notice then was that he laid the groundwork for a hostile takeover.”

“He interspersed in your DNA the ability for some, like those in your family, Sam, to be hosts to his abominations. His separate creations that, while intelligent enough to think for themselves, are compelled to follow only his orders under pain of death. When we discovered his plan to defile and rape you with his soldiers, all while he drew on your power, your energy for himself—we built in one final rule that even he could not circumvent. If he wanted to use human beings for his vile gains, they would have to consent.”

“Now, he collects your souls only for himself and feeds off of them in an attempt to become more powerful than the rest of us—but he is not, and I wholly intend to re-level the playing field.”

“You’re wrong,” came a voice from behind a large tree several yards away. When Cas stepped out from behind it, Sam’s stomach dropped into his shoes.


	20. Barracuda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

“The Kingdom of Heaven is a paradise for the souls who go there,” Cas insisted. “God provides that for them. He loves them.”

Her posture changed to one of a person enraged. “Speaking of abominations, it’s Castiel, the mutilated angel come to defend his master, even as he is rejected and abandoned and hunted down for once daring to have a free thought.”

She advanced toward him, but Sam stepped in between the two. Walking backwards, “Cas, get out of here. Right now.”

“No, Sam, this woman’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be alone with her. If you could see what I have—she’s very powerful. Unbelievably so.”

“I know, Cas, but you have to leave.” Keeping his gaze locked on the goddess, “Maya, this one’s harmless. He’s not in a vessel, and he can’t even fly.”

But his words fell on deaf ears. With a wave of her hand, an icy gust of wind flew past him and hit Cas dead center in the chest, knocking him off of his feet. “Useless, yes. Harmless, no. This thing wishes to pass itself off as human, and it defiled your beloved.” She strode up to him and kicked him sharply in the side. “He wishes to separate you from Dean. He would rip that bond you share to shreds if he could. You are simply too kindhearted to notice!”

“That’s not true!” he coughed, clutching at his stomach as she kicked him again. “Sam, it’s not true.”

“What evidence of that do you have?” he called after her, but she ignored him.

The next blow connected with his arm as he tried to defend himself. The loud, wet snap Sam heard could only have been one or more bones breaking. Cas’s teeth glinted in the afternoon light as he cried out in pain. Shaking and in serious trouble, he tried to crawl away. But, to Sam’s horror, Yemaya seemed to just be getting started. She yanked the injured angel to his feet and tossed him off the path like a rag doll. Sam winced when he heard him connect with a log.

“Stop!” Sam begged. She was going to end his life for sure, he thought. “Please stop hurting him! Please, Maya.”

“Why? When I kill this disgusting creature—and if you like I can make it quicker, I know that your heart yearns for mercy—when I destroy this barrier, you will have your soulmate all to yourself. As is right. As is natural. And what little pain he experiences will be soothed by the comfort you’ll provide.”

“You’re crazy,” Sam spat at her, inching slowly toward where Cas had landed. “They love each other, and they need each other. I wouldn’t take that from him. I couldn’t say I loved him if I did.” He took a page from Cas’s own reasoning for letting Sam be with Dean. “I couldn’t even call myself human.”

As he moved carefully through the briars and rocks, he found the poor damaged angel bleeding from his nose and head and lying in a fetal position in the dirt. “Oh, God,” he muttered. Then, turning back to her, “You think so much of humans but expect me to condemn my friend to death? He hasn’t done anything wrong as far as I’m concerned and definitely nothing so bad that you should kill him!”

As he bent down to touch him—to let him know that he wasn’t alone—Yemaya simply watched. “Cas is my friend,” he insisted, too disgusted by the situation to look at her. “I would never betray him or Dean like that. This is my family. Cas is part of my family, okay? And I may not be a parent or anything like that, but Dean and Cas are all I have, and I need to protect them. Please don’t harm him anymore. I know I can’t stop you, but please, Maya.”

When he finally looked up, he caught a glimpse of her face, cold and expressionless. With a blink, she was gone, and the only evidence she’d been there at all lay in Cas’s injuries. And he was hurt really, really bad. Sam helped him sit up, and Cas took it a step further, trying to get to his feet. But he wobbled immediately and looked dizzy. With nothing to grab hold of so he could steady himself, he fell, and Sam caught him without hesitating. “Whoa, hey. I think you should stay put for awhile. Are you gonna be okay? I’m so sorry, Cas.” Holding him tightly, he slowly brought the angel back down to earth, mindful of the severely damaged arm.

“Sam, I—I would never try to—what she said, it wasn’t true. I wouldn’t!” he stammered, his chin resting on Sam’s shoulder. Blood from his nose trickled down his mouth and chin until it soaked into the hunter’s shirt. His voice sounded weak.

“Shhh, Cas. Work on fixing yourself up a bit, okay? I’m worried about you. Is your arm broken? It looks broken.”

His chest and shoulders shook. “Why’d you tell her that?”

Sam blinked. “Tell her what? Not to kill you? I don’t want to see you hurt, Cas. At all.”

“No, the family part. I haven’t done anything to warrant that,” he lifted his head a few inches off of Sam and spoke very softly. His eyelids hung low, and he slurred a little. A concussion seemed likely. “I’ve just taken things from you.”

Truth is, he would have said anything to get her to spare him. How could he look Dean in the eye again if he let Cas die? But it wasn’t just that.

Sam wiped at the blood beneath Cas’s nose with his sleeve. The angel stayed very still. The broken arm sagged lower than the other, with the forearm of the good one resting limp on Sam’s leg. With big, round eyes and vulnerability creeping into every mannerism, he seemed more like a hurt puppy than an angel and soldier. “You make Dean happy. That alone would put you in the running, but I also consider you a friend, Cas, and I care about you.”

He reached in his pocket for his cellphone and dialed Dean’s number. When he answered, “Hey, Dean, umm—we had a visitor. You know, like our kind of visitor. I don’t think it’s necessarily a threat to us, at least not yet. But it’s-uh—it’s Cas. The thing hurt Cas pretty bad.”

“What?! What the fuck do you mean ‘hurt him’? What thing? How?! How bad?” his voice thundered over the line.

“I think it’s a demigod, a water goddess. Some voodoo old world stuff. Anyway, she’s got a major chip on her shoulder against angels, so seeing Cas was like a bull and the color red.” He heard rummaging as Dean prepared to dash out the door. “He’s got a—a broken arm and a concussion, I think. Awake and miserable, but kinda not as lucid as he could be. We’re on a trail about a mile and a half going east.”

There was a noise as Dean opened a metal first aid kit and checked it. “Hospital?”

Sam tilted Cas’s head to look at the wounds, and the angel let him with no resistance whatsoever. “I dunno. Maybe. Cas, how you feeling right now?”

He managed a weak glare. “Peachy. Like if you took an actual peach and put it on the road in front of a semi going ninety down a freeway.”

“I’m gonna go with ‘he hurts all over’ and might need to go to a hospital.”

“Okay,” his voice was calm, but inside he was anything but. They didn’t have any vehicles—and stealing one from a nearby cabin could be very tricky given the quietness and likelihood the occupants might be armed—and he couldn’t fly to a place he’d never seen before. So, if Cas did need a trip to the ER, he had no idea how they would get there. He’d have to find a way. “I’ll be there soon.” And with that, the line went dead.

Sliding the phone into his shirt pocket, Sam turned his full attention to Cas, but the angel did not look directly at him. In fact, he hadn’t the entire time. “Look at me for a second, all right? Even if it hurts to—I need you to make your eyes focus. If you can’t, your head injury could be really bad.”

“I can’t.”

“Just try, Cas.”

“No, I really can’t. Sam.” He gulped. “I-I can’t see anything.”

“What?!” When he shouted, Cas flinched. “How are you—? When? Was it when she threw you?”

He shook his head. “I sensed her when she showed herself, so I looked. Really looked. I thought it was gonna be Raphael. I had no idea—it took out all of my real sight, and dulled my extra senses.” He sniffed. “It’s nothing but darkness. I can kinda make out some energy if I try really hard.”

“You’re blind?” he still didn’t believe it.

But when the angel lifted his good arm to feel through the air, it seemed pretty obvious. Two fingertips connected with Sam’s cheek. He pulled them away quickly, having proved his point. His head bowed, and from closed eyelids tears welled. They dripped down his bloodied face to fall onto Sam’s leg and the dirt next to it. “What if I can’t ever look at anyone again?” he sobbed. Anyone. Not anything, Sam noted, any _one_ —as in Dean. What if Cas could never see Dean again?

The question broke Sam’s heart. He embraced him again. Not only was he hurting and afraid, but he’d done something incredibly courageous despite it. Just seeing Yemaya had blinded him. But he approached them, anyway, in an attempt to help Sam, who he thought for sure must be in incredible danger. “Bal can probably fix it,” he reassured him. “She brought me and Bobby back from the dead; she can fix your eyes.”

He cried into Sam’s shirt for a little while before responding. “I’m not sure that help will be offered, Sam. I think this goddess and Balthazar are working together.”

“You mean she’s the power source, right? You think Yemaya’s the extra energy source Bal’s using against Raphael? I dunno, Cas. She hates angels!”

“Bal must have something Yemaya wants.” Slowly, the tears stopped, but his shoulders still shook, and he looked absolutely devastated. “Worse yet, Bal might already know this has happened and could be in on it. She might not care or may no longer be able to help us.”

Sam rubbed his back, “We won’t know that unless we talk to her. From what I’ve seen of Balthazar, she’s kind of a loner, right? And she’s been helping us a lot. I really don’t think Bal would all of a sudden want you hurt or work with a god that she knows hates angels. I bet Balthazar doesn’t have all the info on Yemaya or maybe she’s just being used. And this kind of juicy info is something I bet Bal would really like to know. And we can tell her, right after she heals you.”

“Not gonna lie, Sam. I might pass out before then,” the angel leaned back, but he couldn’t keep himself up on his own, and he slumped over. His head came to rest on the uninjured arm, with his nose only about half a finger’s length from the dirt.

“You do what you gotta do, Cas. I’m here, and Dean’ll be here soon, too. We’ll get you some help,” he rested one hand on Castiel’s temple and lightly moved his thumb back and forth. His blue eyes stared into nothing and eventually closed. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said more for himself than for Cas’s benefit. If he couldn’t recover, it would be on Sam, even if no one blamed him. He still would.

Cas had been motionless and quiet for almost ten minutes by the time Dean found them. When he saw the angel, broken and beat up, he looked like he might faint, too. Sam was surprised to witness that, even given the severity of the situation. Dean didn’t show emotion if he could help it, though he often couldn’t. And he most certainly wasn’t weak or unaccustomed to seeing people get injured. That included people he really cared about. But he was visibly affected, nonetheless. He turned pale in a hurry, and his big green eyes flashed brightly with fear behind them.

Sam let him take it in before speaking. “I think we should call Balthazar,” he suggested. “Who knows where the nearest hospital is.”

“And if she and the demigod are bumping uglies?” Dean had been thinking it the whole trek there. Bal told them they’d be safe by water, and a water goddess showed up. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

“I don’t think Bal’ll do any more damage than Yemaya has. Worse comes to worst, she just doesn’t help us, and then we can track her down later, and you can personally gank the hell out of her. Or I will.”

Dean snorted and shut his eyes. “I fucking hate this praying crap, I hope you know. Why couldn’t she have picked you? You already do this shit on your own!” He sighed. But he didn’t hesitate for long, “Okay—fuck—hey, Balthazar. How ya doin’?” he practically growled. “Hey, man, could you-uh come on down here? Like pronto? Cas went a few rounds with a mermaid and lost big time.”

They waited but nothing happened.

His expression transformed from worry to anger. “Hey, you dick, get your ass down to earth. Come on, Bal. Cas is really fucked up, and it’s your fault. You said this place was safe, you piece of shit, and it ain’t. Not even close. Balthazar, I swear if you don’t—”

But the familiar vessel appeared before he could finish the threat. From where she stood on the path, she couldn’t see Cas on the ground. Giggling, “You know, Dean Winchester, every time you pray to me, I get tingly all over.”

“Fix Cas, you bitch.”

“Ooo, ouch. That is not very nice,” she strutted calmly up the hill, but stopped abruptly at Sam’s side. “What—what has happened? Not an angel…” her voice trailed off.

Sam kept one hand on Cas protectively. “Friend of yours,” he sneered. “Yemaya.”

The stare Balthazar gave could have pierced a hole all the way through him. “What did he do?”

“What, Cas? What did Cas do?! He didn’t do anything!” Sam made no attempt to hide his distress and anger. “Your gal pal thinks every last angel is an abomination, and Cas was an easy punching bag to make her point clear.”

The muscles in her face tightened, “No, she—” but Bal’s gaze looked off to the side as the angel seemed to check on something using abilities neither of the Winchesters understood. “How bad?”

“Head wound, a really broken arm, and,” Sam paused and looked over at Dean, “and his eyes are fried.”

“Wait. Hold on, what?!” Caught between wanting to run over to them and being frozen in place, he took slow steps forward. “What did you say?”

Sam just came out with it. “He looked at Yemaya, the way angels look at things, and now he can’t see. But you can fix that with everything else, right?”

“Yes, of course. This happens more than you might think. Our sight is very sensitive. Since he is a mortal now, I will fix the more dangerous things first, but he will be back to his miserable self in no time.” She bent over Cas and touched his head. Moments later, he roused. The arm took a lot longer to mend, but it, too, was back in one piece quickly. Then, she put both hands over his eyes and pushed on him. But she let out a grunt. “Oh, damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Dean snarled. “Fix his sight.”

“I am afraid that I am fresh out of healing power,” she shrugged. “I have been fighting for days. This took the last of my energy reserves. I will need some time before I can heal again.”

“How long?!”

Cas’s empty gaze was pointed at the ground. “About a week, right?” he reckoned. He didn’t love the idea of going without one of his senses, but so long as it wasn’t permanent, he could manage. It wasn’t like he would be very useful in combat, anyway, and if and when Raphael did show himself, he’d be completely powerless—with or without working vision.

“Three days if I am very careful. But more like two weeks if I have to keep fighting.”

“There’s gotta be something you can do,” Sam insisted. “His arm doesn’t even look bruised.” If she could mend it that far, couldn’t she just try a little harder and fix his sight?

Bal groaned. “I do not think you understand what a complete drain on power means. I cannot help you if I am dead.”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Cas put up one hand in his general direction. “It’s okay, Bal. I can wait.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Sam stared at him. He could see now very clearly in the light that the edges around Cas’s eyes were red and irritated, and it looked more permanent than could be caused by crying.

“I have enough to bring perhaps a small amount of sight back,” she confessed, “but you will see only shapes. Colors. Outlines. And it could come with a level of pain and sensitivity.” Bal moved back over to Cas, shuffling across the dusty and dry dirt. “But it will begin the healing process, and I can return to finish later.”

With Cas’s nod, she covered his eyes with one hand. Her face contorted, and after just short of a minute, she stopped again, seemingly out of breath. Cas pried his eyelids open but immediately threw them shut again. The short burst of sunlight seared into him. A sharp pain cut into his head just behind his retinas. He covered his face reflexively and fell to a crouching position at Bal’s feet.

She frowned. “Damnit. You know, I told you—” but she couldn’t help but take pity on him. Removing a thin, silky scarf from around her neck—a fashion choice of the vessel’s—Bal pulled his arms away and tied the silvery fabric around his head, forming a blindfold. “Direct light is going to hurt you, Castiel, until I have enough energy to prevent it. You must shield yourself from the sun in the meantime. You do not have a choice.”

Dean approached with an uneasy posture. “Aww, man, we gotta get you some shades or something. Don’t think you can walk around like that. Not in public, anyway.” But as an afterthought he touched Cas’s cheek affectionately. He didn’t know what to say.

The angel leaned into the action. “I think it’ll be fine. I’m okay.”

Sam watched them. He didn’t feel jealous this time or even left out. Now that he could essentially have Dean when he wanted, there was no need for that. And he enjoyed not only seeing how they so easily cheered each other up, but also that Dean could comfort Cas just by showing him a little attention. Sam had taken care of him in the half-hour after he’d gotten worked over by the goddess, but all of his efforts amounted to barely a dent in Cas’s emotional hardship. Dean awkwardly and reluctantly touching his face, however, produced a weak but genuine smile. Sam actually felt lucky to witness it.

Without taking the two out of his sights, Sam addressed Balthazar before she could leave. “So, what are you going to do about Yemaya?”

Dean turned around to look at her. “Might wanna start with picking better friends.”

“Nothing has changed,” she said sternly. “The plan requires Yemaya’s assistance, and she will provide it. You will not interfere, and if you try, I will stop you.”

“What plan is worth including her? Just killing Raphael? Or do you want Michael and our Father, too?” Except to speak, Cas didn’t move a muscle. Sam couldn’t even see him breathe.

Bal cracked her knuckles absently. “Whatever it takes to free us. There are rumors Michael has begun to awaken inside his fortress. They say it is because of the war. If he intends to involve himself, we will have no choice but to kill him, as well.”

Cas’s “At what cost?” hung in the thick empty space where Balthazar stood an instant earlier.

Throwing his arm around the angel, Dean kissed him by his ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

But he walked away without offering any assistance. It was a combination of oversight, not wanting to baby him, and a general anxiousness toward admitting that Cas had gotten severely hurt. When Cas put his arms out in an attempt to start walking on his own, Sam stepped up, offering his arm. The angel’s fingers locked onto his sleeve. They picked a path down the hill that way, and Sam guided him through the trail’s hurdles toward their cabin. Dean struck out ahead of them a considerable distance. If he noticed Sam’s help—the quiet instructions and the care he took to make sure Cas didn’t trip or run into anything—he didn’t say a word about it.

Sam didn’t need to be noticed. Not for this thing, this act of charity. No, he wanted to provide aid, and it wasn’t just because he felt responsible. Helping Cas was the right thing to do, and it might even mean less tension between him and the angel in the long run.


	21. Blinded by the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Castiel lived in darkness. He didn’t dare remove the cover except with all the curtains drawn and the lights out, and since he shared the tiny abode with five other people, his opportunities to use what little sight he had were few. He showered in the dark, of course, and the brothers kindly kept their shared bedroom sunlight-free.

But he found himself spending more and more time there, as sitting in the main room or outside proved not only painful physically but socially. They mostly ignored him under the guise of not wanting to call too much attention to the problem. But, in doing so, they alienated him. In conversations, they made hand gestures and motions that accounted for parts of the dialogue that he couldn’t digest. And their facial expressions were mysteries to him. He therefore couldn’t always laugh at the jokes or follow the stories. So, just as the group did not include Cas in most things, he tried less and less to join them.

Even Dean didn’t seem to know what to say to him, though he made several attempts in the beginning, and Cas assured him that he was fine, and that Bal would have him back in shape in no time at all. They’d just have to be patient. Nonetheless, their conversations shrunk as they neared the one week mark, and when they were together, they avoided the subject entirely.

By noon on the eighth day since Cas lost his sight, Sam had seen enough. He followed the issue intensely, more so than anyone realized. He noticed the angel slowly becoming a hermit as the others practically shunned him or wrote him off as useless. It felt almost criminal to him that this was occurring, and even if the blindness was temporary, he could see no reason why Cas had to be treated this way in the meantime.

He knocked on the door to their room several times before a voice finally answered. “What do you want?”

“Cas? Can I come in?”

“Yeah, hold on.” In the dark, he reluctantly donned Bal’s scarf. “Okay.”

Sam sidled his way inside, opening the door only enough to fit through, and shut it behind him. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Cas sat cross-legged on the bed. The only sunlight glowed feebly from under the curtain of the single window, but a second source, buried in the sheets, was the screen of Sam’s music player, which he’d loaned the angel the day after he’d been blinded. Both earbuds and the white wires that connected them dangled from Cas’s ears. But he’d turned the music off moments before, so the room was silent. Otherwise, he wore just an oversized grey shirt with a big, v-shaped neck hole that ended halfway down his chest and dark red shorts.

He walked toward him and didn’t stop until the foot of the bed. “It’s beautiful out. Let’s go for a walk.”

Cas scoffed. “I’ll try to imagine it from here. Thanks.”

“No, don’t give me that. You can still enjoy the fresh air, Cas, and listen to the water. You can’t hold up in here forever. I’m not gonna let you. Let’s go. Just for a few minutes.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red and blue bandana. “I brought you something. You like The Who, right? My dad went to a show before I was born and bought this there. I found it under the driver’s seat about a month ago. It’s thicker than that scarf you got on and a whole lot cooler. You can borrow it if you come outside with me.”

His speech worked. Castiel removed the headphones. Sam heard his bare feet touch the hardwood floor, and moments later, the angel was in front of him. He handed him the old bandana, which featured the British rock band’s iconic bull’s-eye logo, and pulled Bal’s scarf off of him. Cas rolled the cloth into a viable substitute before tying it behind his head. With the switch made, Cas stepped into his sneakers without bothering to search for socks, and the two descended to the ground level. They walked casually out the door without saying a word to anyone else.

Once outside, they circled around the cabin to a small side yard where an old picnic table sat at an incline. Sam guided him there, and he took a seat. They didn’t say anything for a long time. But the warm sun and sounds of birds chirping around them helped him relax. His face showed no sign of an improved mood, but Sam had a hunch the change in location made him feel better.

“This place is really kinda nice,” Sam looked out over the lake as he spoke. “Like, I get why Rufus wanted a house out here, just to get away from the shit you end up seeing and the stuff you end up doing as a hunter. You can’t stay in a place like this forever. You can’t ever retire. The stuff’ll find you eventually. And then you’re done. But you can go for a little while, and if you don’t get greedy, don’t hold on for too long, you can come back. When you really need it, you can have your cabin and your lake and the trees and everything. And it’ll recharge you, and you can hold onto the feeling this area gives you when you’re in deep, when you’re alone, and you’re screwed. And those memories are what will get you through it.”

“You don’t have to try and cheer me up.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Yes, I do. Nobody else is.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Sam.”

“What? Are you serious? Yes, you are. You definitely are. Listen,” he faced him and put one hand on Cas’s collarbone to remind him where Sam was. “Everyone here is my responsibility. Dean and the other hunters feel the same way, even if they’re not very good at showing it. You got hurt, and I was the only one there, and I couldn’t prevent it. You’re hurting now. The others don’t see it or don’t know what to do, but if I can help you, I will. Because I know it’s happening, and I’m here. You can’t see my face, but I’m dead serious, Cas.”

“You can’t help me,” his head tilted down to one side.

He shook his head. Then, realizing Cas couldn’t see it, “No, no, I don’t agree. I can. I can get you out of that room, and I can make sure you at least get a shot at being happy, even just for a few minutes. Dean may not get that you need it right now, but I do.” When Cas didn’t respond, the hunter moved closer. “I guess I’ve just been paying attention more.”

“What are you doing, Sam?” he almost whispered. Sight or no sight, he could easily tell that the distance between Sam and himself was incredibly small.

He reiterated Sam’s own thoughts, as that exact phrase had been repeating itself since they sat down on the same side of the table. But it didn’t make an ounce of difference. He drifted even closer, bending down until only a few inches remained. “I’m not sure,” he replied, and Cas could hear him breathe.

“Then just stop, okay? This is a really, really bad idea, and I don’t think you—” But when Sam’s nose touched his, the angel forgot the rest of his sentence. Despite what he’d said, he didn’t shy away or balk or move at all, for that matter. He just waited for Sam to make the obvious next move, and he tried not to think.

Sam, on the other hand, had to fight through a tempest raging inside his head. Two very different storms duked it out for supremacy. One was diehard loyalty to Dean. The other exemplified the moment and the electric tension between them—the passion he felt, and the sudden and incredible interest he had in chasing down the simple thought that prevailed over the war in his mind: “ _I can make him feel better if he lets me_.”

And although Dean might be angry at seeing his two lovers in such a compromising position, he didn’t really have a right to, did he? He got to have the full devotion of two people while each only at best received half of his. It was a compromise the two were willing to put up with in order to have him, but it didn’t mean it was fair, he thought. So what if he wanted Cas, too? It wasn’t a betrayal any more than Dean being with the angel.

Sam’s lips dropped the rest of the way down to Cas’s. After the first tentative kiss, he lifted his jaw to connect further and pushed until Cas’s head rose up with his own. At the place where his neck met his chest, Sam’s left hand held him. His right made its way to the back of Cas’s head, just below the blindfold. Locks of his hair were soft as they fell between his fingers.

Cas’s tongue slid out to find Sam’s lower lip, and he tasted him. It was unsurprisingly different from Dean. No alcohol on his breath and instead a faint hint of peppermint gum, something Dean would never have bothered with. And, of course, a dissimilar approach. Unskilled, but not bad. Nervous, but passionate. Sweet and kind of innocent, and strong at the same time. Cas didn’t think he would like it as much as he did, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why Sam would want or even be capable of wanting him—but whatever. Fuck it. It didn’t matter. It felt good. Cas felt good, for the first time in more than a week. It was invigorating.

Sam didn’t really have his head wrapped around it, either. He reasoned that since Cas didn’t have a soul, it couldn’t repulse his own—or maybe it had something to do with his connection to Dean—and by proxy Dean’s connection to Castiel? He wasn’t sure, but the attraction was there all the same. He was turned on, excited, and generally interested in pursuing this strange endeavor further. And by Cas’s blushing and slow but deliberate movements, he felt just as Sam did.

With his vision either dead or obstructed, Cas relied entirely on touch, which was an especially appropriate sense for their interaction. The palms of his hands slid across Sam’s chest and stomach, down his thighs to his knees, before climbing all the way back to his shoulders. The sensation it derived in Sam was powerful to say the least. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Cas leaned toward him, his back curving and his whole posture emanating attraction. As the kissing grew deeper and more intense, it was all Sam could do to try and keep up.

He moaned, and pushed the angel away. Cas got in one more kiss before they separated. Sam scratched at the back of his own neck nervously. “Would you want to—umm—”

“Go back inside?” he finished for him. “I thought I needed fresh air.” But his wonderful smile told Sam he was more than happy to head upstairs so long as he had company. And if he kept smiling like that, it wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Exercise is good, too,” he managed before returning for another flourish of kissing. After enjoying just about as much as he could take, he stood and pulled Cas up with him. “Let’s go. I’ll-uh, I’ll help you up the stairs, right?”

Cas laughed as they went inside.

***

Dean was reluctantly cleaning the dishes that had clogged up the cabin’s two small kitchen sinks when Ellen wandered in and leaned against the counter. She didn’t immediately say anything, but instead waited for him to acknowledge her. He raised an eyebrow. “We outta plates? You’re gonna have to wait.”

“No, I’m fine, hon. But—I think there’s something you should hear about.” She didn’t look at him.

“Okay?”

“It’s—now, I don’t know where you stand on this, and it’s really none of my business—“

“Ellen.”

“Right, out with it, El,” she told herself. “So, umm, about fifteen minutes ago give or take, your brother and the angel, they went upstairs, and well, neither of ‘em has come back down, you know? I mean, I’m no judge of these things, but the look on their faces. It was pretty—Jesus, this is stupid. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s probably nothing.”

Dean set a clean plate aside and moved on to a bowl. Internally, he filed the information away. He made no reaction outwardly at first, but then eventually laughed it off. “That’s about as likely as me actually wanting to do these dishes,” he scrubbed with a sudsy sponge more dramatically for effect. “They’re probably learning Braille together or something just as dorky. I’ll figure it out when I’m done here. Trust me, don’t worry about it.”

But she didn’t immediately leave. Unconvinced, she nodded to signal she understood his point. But she didn’t agree. After a long silence abated only by the sounds of sloshing water and clicking around utensils, “But the angel, he’s-uh—he’s sorta _aligned_ —“

“Yeah, but my brother ain’t,” he said decisively.

“Are you sure?”

He smiled, but it betrayed none of the information he kept from her and the other hunters. “Positive.”

More honestly, Dean actually had no idea what did and didn’t turn Sam on, other than himself. He’d never shown any interest in other men, but he might have hidden it. It seemed unlikely, though. He didn’t have much reason to keep it from him, and even less now. Dean had a wide variety of interests—women, men, angels, all of which he’d slowly come to accept—but Sam strongly favored women up until recently. He even had a type: good and innocent little blondes looking for a stable husband, a white picket fence, and a few kids to stick into some expensive private school.

That was a far cry from a scruffy male ex-phone sex worker and once immortal creature.

No, the only thing that got Sammy out of his routine was a strong psychic shove in Dean’s direction. He couldn’t imagine Sam going after another guy, even if it was, at least as far as the biased hunter was concerned, probably the sexiest guy on the planet.

“People change,” she pointed out, meaning Dean more than his brother.

Last she knew, he was a potential suitor of her daughter’s. Well, at least Jo would’ve liked him to be. She was practically smitten with the man. But despite a very strong reputation with the women who crossed his path, Dean showed only moderate interest in Jo, if he noticed her at all, and, anyway, Ellen would’ve chased him off if given the chance. The last thing she wanted to see was her only child ending up with a hunter. But all that seemed much less likely now. Not only was Dean not romantically involved with a female, but he wasn’t even dating a human!

And what’s more, he had some angel magic or something in him. Beyond hunting, he was quickly becoming some sort of warrior as far as they could tell, though he wasn’t jumping at the chance to explain it to the rest of them.

Needless to say, the news had come as a surprise. There was no way Ellen couldn’t look at Dean differently, knowing what she knew now.

He picked up a handful of forks and spoons and rinsed them under the faucet. Another handful followed, joining the first in a drying rack to his right. “If there’s a problem, I’ll handle it. But I don’t think there’s gonna be one.” He reached deep into the grimy water to pull out the plug. As the sink drained, he washed his arms and hands in cold water before rolling his sleeves back down.  He didn’t bother with a towel.

Walking up to her, his mood shifted, and agitation took over. “Yeah, Ellen. People change. With all the shit going on right now, I wonder about the people who don’t. What kind of person do you gotta be to see everything that’s goin’ on, and not grow or adapt at all?”

All of the irritation he felt for being silently judged and studied and speculated on since meeting Cas ended up square in her face. Ellen wasn’t the only one who’d been staring or whispering, and she probably wasn’t even the worst offender, but none of the others had the guts to bring it up to him, so she received the full brunt of it.

Dean thought about bringing even more fury down on her, telling her that it was, indeed, none of her damn business, and telling her—screaming at her—that she had no right to judge Sam’s character. She didn’t know him like he did, after all, and who was she to make these assertions?

But where was the good in that? The more attention he drew to himself and Sam and Cas, the worse the treatment would get and the greater the tension. And, anyway, Ellen was already very quickly realizing she’d made a misstep. She retreated toward the main room and looked about to make an apology. But Dean beat her to an exit, giving her one final look of anger before heading upstairs.

Once in the hallway, he could hear laughing emanating from the bedroom. He crept up to the door and put his ear to it. The muffled sounds could be anything, he told himself. Just because they were having a good time—but he didn’t see any value in speculating or making excuses. If they weren’t doing anything sexual, then they wouldn’t mind company. He reached for the knob and turned it as quietly as possible. Or, at least he attempted to. It didn’t budge.

His heart sank. Why the hell would they lock it?

Out from a front pocket, he pulled a small set of lock-picking tools, chose two, and applied them to the obstruction as delicately as possible. The door was open without him even having to think about it.

When the room flooded with light, he saw that Ellen’s suspicions had been spot-on. Sam sat on top of Cas, bent down over him. For a few seconds before reacting, his mouth remained buried deep into Cas’s neck, which Dean surmised was the cause of all the noises. Sam wore only jeans that, having been undone, were sliding off of him. A thin pair of shorts covered the angel, and they were hiked up far enough for Dean to initially think he didn’t have anything on at all.

But before he could get angry—hell, before he could form any kind of thought or reaction on his own—he made an observation. With the room now lit up, it posed a hazard to Cas’s damaged eyes, and Sam recognized that right away. He jumped to action. Covering Cas’s eyes with the palms of both hands, his fingers interlocked over the bridge of his nose. He yelped, more out of surprise than pain, but Sam leaned down to his ear and shushed him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

Dean didn’t expect to see that. The foreplay maybe, but not that level of bonding and kindness. Most days, he wasn’t even sure they liked each other, but now? “Whoa,” he let out.

Sam didn’t turn to him. “Hey, Dean.” Then, after a short pause, “Could you close the door?”

He obliged. In the dark, he heard rummaging, followed by the click of the nearby table lamp. When light returned, Cas’s deep blue eyes were obscured again, this time by cloth. The two were no longer horizontal, but they sat as close as possible on the bed. The angel leaned against Sam’s chest. Dean studied them. Their state of arousal—most obvious with the angel, whose shorts did nothing to conceal it—fascinated him. They really were planning on heating things up without him. They really did turn each other on.

When he finally spoke, it was with a genuine grin fixed in place. “Dude. I mean—dude.”

Only Cas seemed concerned. Sam just sat there, biting into his lower lip in an attempt to stay serious. He didn’t really care that they’d been found out, except that it put the brakes on their joyride. Dean would just have to deal with it. He wasn’t sorry. When push came to shove, he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.

Castiel, however, felt awful about it. “Dean, I’m so—” but the rest was muffled as Sam covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

“He looks like he just won the lottery,” Sam explained quickly.

“Shit, that’s because I have! This is awesome.” He moved toward them, beaming. Pulling on his own shirt, “Uh, can you two just be like this all the time? Walk around exactly like this. And please tell me I get to join you. Please.”

But Sam shook his head. Dean saw mischievousness in the other hunter’s expression, and it came through clearly in his voice. “No, I don’t think so, Dean. Not this time, at least.” He certainly wouldn’t rule it out for later. “Look, I love you, man, like you wouldn’t believe. And I know Cas feels the same way. But this one—it’s just not about you.”

“Sam,” Cas objected.

“No, he’s right,” Dean said begrudgingly. “If you’re gonna do this—and oh man, please, please do—it should just be you two, together. Get something nice goin’ only you guys have.” He looked them up and down with desire coursing through his veins. “But later. I want both of you. At the same time.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Dude, I mean it!” Dean spun around and opened the door. He would’ve preferred to just jump in bed with them right away. The more he got used to the idea of them hooking up, the more he wanted to be there when it happened, and of course participate if they let him. Hell, even if he couldn’t, he didn’t hate the idea of just watching them in action.

But he knew that he might never really get to have them both in one go if they didn’t cozy up to each other first. And though each of them were head over heels for him, he wasn’t invited to this party.

When he left, face flustered and head filled to the brim with all the possibilities, the two were alone on the bed once again.


	22. Rock You Like a Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Sam turned out the light and slowly slid the bandana up over Cas’s head before setting it on the nightstand. Though he could hardly see in the dark, he still fixed the angel’s hair. His thumb came to rest lightly on his cheek, and he kissed him once more.

Cas had an urge to talk about it, to obsess on whether or not Dean would be okay or if either of their relationships with him would take a hit from this. But as Sam crawled on top of him again, the thoughts melted away. In their place, pleasure and exhilaration filled him up, and it only got worse when Sam reached into his shorts. A moan escaped from him, followed shortly after by a much louder one as the hand got to work.

“Someone teach you that?” his lips broke away from Sam’s just long enough to form the remark. He hadn’t expected the young hunter to be that skilled.

He laughed, his grip tightening. “You know, this might come as a surprise.” With a jerk, the side of his hand hit Cas’s pelvis. He drew his fist up the full length of him and back down. “But I have one of my own. And I didn’t really get laid until college, so…”

“So you’ve had lots of practice!” He smiled. “I hope you’re not ashamed of that, though. Oh, God, it’s paid off. And everybody should know how to do it right, what works and what doesn’t. That way, when someone else—oh—when someone wants to—You’re really good at this, you know that? Fuck, you’re good.”

His strokes quickened, and Cas could tell Sam appreciated the positive feedback. He bent over the angel to chew on his shoulder, which served to practically double the sensation raging through him. Taking his mouth away as Cas’s chest heaved, Sam’s nose pressed into his neck. “Knowing how is one thing.” But actually making it a regular occurrence? Actually having to because there wasn’t anyone in your life to fill that need?

“Oh, shut up,” was Cas’s response, but there wasn’t even a hint of anger in his voice. “Everybody capable of getting aroused jerks off, no matter how much they hook up. Seriously. I am—I’m incredibly grateful that you count masturbation as one of your hobbies, Sam. You have no idea.”

His tugging slowed to a more deliberate pace, but the stimulation didn’t diminish in the slightest. “I’m pretty much a novice at everything else, though.”

Cas grinned. “That’s okay. I’m kind of an expert.”

He slid his own hands into Sam’s jeans and found the tight skin beneath hot to the touch. Working the garment down, he didn’t stop until it caught at the man’s knees. He kissed him passionately. Sam followed his lead, pulling on Cas’s shorts one-handedly with no harm done to his rhythm. As he moved to the angel’s side, Cas kicked the piece of clothing the rest of the way off and pressed his knees together. Sam’s free hand glided into the angel’s hair.

“Oh, fuck! Hey, you might wanna slow it down, Sam.”

“Not a chance.”

“No, you’re gonna—we’ve barely gotten started!” he argued.

 “You don’t want me to—umm—get you all the way there?”

“Oh, no, I—please do, but I want this to last as long as possible.”

Sam offered a lengthy kiss in response, and gradually his enticing grip relaxed and slipped down to Cas’s thigh.  “Well, what else do you want to do?” His fingers absently traced paths across his skin, which tingled beneath them.

Unable to take it any longer, Cas grabbed his wrist and forced it away. “Everything! Including making you climax, too.” He slapped Sam’s backside and grasped it. “Hey, I’m easy. There’s a hundred ways you could get me there—and those are just the ones I know of—but what does it for you? I mean, I once made a living off of figuring that out in people and then giving it to them, and it’s something I really like doing. But maybe I’m rusty. You’re mostly a mystery to me. I haven’t got a clue what you like past the basics.”

He shrugged. “I‘m kinda new to this.”

“Well, yeah, but what does-uh—what works with Dean?” Cas wanted to bring him into this as little as possible, but he didn’t know a way around it. “I’m not necessarily planning to do the same—because I’m not him, and I don’t wanna try to be—but it might help to know.”

“No idea. We haven’t figured that out, yet.”

“What?” Cas sat up and faced him. If he could’ve made eye contact, he would have. “What do you mean? I know you two had sex. Dean was glowing! It was obvious. We were in the middle of a battle, and he was still glowing.” And after their late night talk, he thought for certain they would have snuck off for a secret rendezvous.

“No, we did—he did. But we got interrupted. And it’s not like you two. It’s not that easy to get back into things.” Sam shifted his weight, and the bed creaked. “Don’t get me wrong, it was like the best thing ever when we did. But there’s a lot of history to get through, you know?”

So, Dean was still having problems. And Cas guessed that Sam probably didn’t want to pressure him.

He leaned in and kissed him gently. “No wonder you’re so good with your hands!” he joked. “Poor thing, you really need to get some, huh?” He felt his way on top of the hunter and straddled him. “Okay, well then, that’s my mission. Get Sam Winchester off.” He rocked in place, perched on Sam’s waist.

The hunter’s mouth dropped open as he inhaled. “Think you can—handle that?”

But even though no male had ever accomplished such a task with Sam, he had a feeling Cas could. This was the most confident he’d seen the angel be since they’d met, outside of a few hints during a fight. Cas’d been a pro at this once, and he felt as at home exploring a new sexual partner as he did doing pretty much anything else human. Only, he actually enjoyed sex. While coming up with the right things to say proved more difficult now, he clung to all the memories of his past life exactly for moments like this.

Sam grabbed Cas’s hips and fidgeted a little beneath him.

“I dunno. Can you keep still while I try?” he teased, taking hold of Sam’s right forearm and pressing it into the mattress. “Or I could make you, if you’d like.”

His eyes widened. The thought excited him. He’d absolutely loved being aggressive with Dean, but there was no reason, as far as Sam was concerned, that he couldn’t enjoy a little of that treatment when it landed in his lap. Literally.

It took a little while for him to say it, but eventually he managed a single effective sentence in response: “Tell me what to do.”

Cas couldn’t get up fast enough. He pulled Sam to his feet and spun him around. Closing in behind him, the angel didn’t stop until his chest pressed against Sam’s back. He allowed himself a few moments to just feel him—warm and a little tense beneath his touch. Then, he pushed down on Sam’s shoulders until his upper half landed on the bed. After applying a bit of liquid assistance, Cas pulled one of the hunter’s arms behind his back and pinned it there. He pushed himself into him seconds later.

“Ahh!” Sam couldn’t help but exclaim. It hurt. He knew it might, but it still surprised him. “Fuck.”

The reaction brought Cas’s movements to a standstill, but he didn’t let go or even disconnect. “Want me to stop?” he asked only as a precaution.  When Sam didn’t immediately answer, he withdrew a little but thrust back in almost as powerfully as the first attempt.

“Damnit, Cas,” he hissed. But after a third go and then a few more, the muscles that touched Cas started to relax. “No—no, umm, please keep going. Please-oh, oh God.” Embarrassed, Sam used his unrestrained hand to cover his mouth.

Cas kept a tight hold on the other arm, making sure not to hurt him, but to provide him as little movement with it as possible. With Sam somewhat immobile and utterly at his disposal, he drove in and out again—fast but deliberate, hard but careful. As he worked up to a considerable force, muffled cries of undeniable pleasure, mixed with a slight amount of unavoidable pain, escaped from between Sam’s fingers. He pressed on, and took it a step further. Reaching up, he secured a handful of Sam’s long hair and pulled just enough to lift his head up off the bedspread.

It was a risky move to try something that deviant on someone who’d likely never even been in this position before. He worried he’d taken it too far, that Sam would end up regretting this—or him—or even feel abused in some way. And he couldn’t see the man’s face to read it and gleam any sort of emotion. The mix of noises he produced didn’t help.

His hold loosened, and he cut down the amount of force he delivered. But before he could even adjust his pace, Sam’s hand grabbed Cas’s forcefully, and re-tangled it in his mane. He didn’t let go until he was sure Cas would keep yanking on it. Clamping his teeth together, “I like that. A lot.”

“Yeah?” He lifted Sam’s head until the back of Cas’s hand touched his upper back. He followed the act with a sharp and deep push.

The hunter exhaled loudly. Nodding, “Yeah. Just don’t—don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Letting his arm go, he bent down over him and kissed his shoulder. “I promise, Sam,” he said sincerely. He had no intention of bragging or gossiping about their romp at all, let alone the specifics. But, there was no reason he couldn’t tease him. “If you get off, that is. If not, you know, I’m gonna hang fliers.”

He groaned. “I’d stop you!”

“No, I can see it now.”

Sam scoffed. “How would you even make the document and print it out?”

“Well, I’d dictate it of course—to Bobby. I’m sure he’s got a creative side. Do you think there’s a lot of appropriate clipart? Maybe he could _Photoshop_ something,” he paused for effect. “Anyway, wasn’t I doing something?”

He had to work past a few labored breaths, “Me, I think.”

“Oh! Right.” In one fluid motion, he pushed deep inside him again, and jerked his wrist up and to the side, bringing the man’s head with it. Sam cried out, more out of surprise than pain. He quieted somewhat, but the heavy breathing and moaning remained. And Cas drew from him more of the same as he continued on. He would have killed to see his face, too, though he imagined it was a gorgeous combination of utter enjoyment and surrender. He pictured Sam overcome with desire, completely defenseless against it.

He put everything he had into bringing him closer, focused all of his energy on the sounds and the feel of him—and he was there before Cas thought. Letting go of his arm, he reached under Sam in time to feel him climax. And every muscle he had seemed to tense up as he did, only to completely relax moments later. He let his fingers untangle from his hair. Overwhelmed and sweating, Sam pulled his body away from the angel and threw himself up onto the bed.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, convinced he’d hurt him. He could only hear air pass his lips. Without being able to touch him, Cas really was in darkness.

It took him an agonizingly long time to answer. “You’re—that was—wow.”

Cas sighed in relief. “You liked it?”

“Of course!” he panted. “Ahh, oh man. I don’t know if I’ve felt like this before! I can’t even think. What’d you do to me?” When Cas was slow to answer—too busy relishing in the victory—he stuck one foot out and nudged the angel toward him. “Hey, c’mere. I’m not done with you, yet.”

Cas felt his way onto the mattress. Once there, he tucked himself in close and kissed him again. Sam reached between his legs and got back to work as though he’d never stopped. But this time all the friction and heavy use meant Cas was a thousand times more sensitive to the man’s skillful fondling.

Sam could’ve easily finished the job this way, and fast, but if he could enhance the Cas’s experience even more and make it as memorable as possible, he wanted to try. After a particularly long kiss, he slid two fingers into his own mouth to wet them before slipping them very carefully inside Cas. Sam immediately regretted the action as Cas winced, and he had no idea what he was doing. But then, he tried to remember that it was about angle. Knuckle-deep, he adjusted his hand until the angel reacted. Cas wrapped his arms around the hunter’s shoulders and buried his face into his collarbone. 

It took a few strokes to get everything timed right, but when he finally managed it, Cas was his. Reduced to a mass of pleasure and yearning, he did little more than clutch at Sam’s back and moan. But that was enough for both of them. Bringing his mouth down close to Cas’s ear, “You’re close, right?”

He nodded. Warm air from his lungs met Sam’s skin. Resolved, the hunter moved more quickly, ensuring he touched all the right crevices and lines of him as he went. One of Cas’s legs lifted off the bed a little. His heal dug into the sheets below them.

And it was over.

Cas held onto him for a minute or so after finishing, but in that time, his dazed look and the feel of his nails digging into Sam’s skin—it thrilled him. When the angel finally let go, his muscles going limp, he didn’t stray very far. His head moved to a nearby pillow, but he kept one hand loosely on Sam’s arm. His eyes pointed in the man’s direction. Despite the satisfaction on his face, they stared into nothingness where Sam should have been.

He tried not to let it dampen the mood. Cas knew what Sam looked like—well, mostly. In their time on the road, he’d seen him at least half a dozen times wearing only a towel or boxers, which on a toned form like his left little to the imagination. He knew he looked like, down to the matching tattoo—designed to ward against possessions—over his heart that he shared with Dean. And regardless, Cas now knew more about him physically, inside and out, than he ever imagined he would.

Depleted, he lay there next to him for a long time without saying a word. He merely smiled and leisurely caressed his arm with the tips of his fingers. Sam made a halfhearted attempt to clean up a little with some paper towels, but once his hands were dry, he gave up on the sheets. He’d just have to pull a late night laundry session later on. For now, though, he was way too worn out to care. His leg muscles felt weak and strained, and he had aches in at least ten different places.

While Sam surveyed the damage, Cas eventually caught his breath. “That was pretty awesome, Sam.”

“I did okay, then?”

“Absolutely. I can’t get my heart to slow down.” He scooched across the area between them, using up as little energy as possible. Once Sam was in reach, the angel planted a kiss on his forehead and remained there. “You’re great.”

“I don’t think I wanna move for awhile,” he laughed. “I’m gonna be sore in the morning.”

“You liked it.”

Sam kissed him passionately. “Just a little.”

“Only a little? Sam, that’s unacceptable! I’ll have to do better next time. I mean, if you want a next time.”

He hesitated a few seconds , just long enough to make sure he meant what he planned to say. “Yeah, Cas. I definitely do.” After a moment, “Hey, I just noticed. You’ve never called me ‘Sammy,’ have you?”

“Hmm?”

“You only ever call me ‘Sam.’”

Cas kissed him just above his eyebrow. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

“It’s just—when people get close to us, to me and Dean, they hear him call me ‘Sammy,’ and I swear, nine times out of ten, they try it, too. But it’s really only something I let him get away with. And only because he’s so stubborn about it. Though I’m sorta used to it now.”

“So, it’s kinda like a thing you two share? I thought it might be. That’s good to know. But I wasn’t gonna do it, anyway,” he smiled as though laughing internally at some sort of joke.

Sam let his wrist come to rest on Cas’s side. “Why not?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “It’s funny, but I—and don’t take this the wrong way—but when I was in grade school, as a human, I had a collie named ‘Sammy.’ It was short for ‘Samson,’ but still. Good dog. But obviously not something I want to be using in bed or with any kind of emotion that I could have for you, Sam. I’d rather call you ‘Samuel’ over that, and it doesn’t suit you at all!”

Laughing, “Thought you were just really observant! But you’re only worried you’ll confuse me with a canine!”

He shook his head. “Hardly. You’re much bigger than he was, and I wouldn’t have sex with him.”

***

The two ended up napping most of the rest of the afternoon. When Sam awoke, it was to an otherwise empty bed—and everything around him trembling. He sat up with a start and jumped to his feet. Earthquakes were not a common occurrence in Minnesota. And they certainly didn’t last several minutes, which was the time it took to stiffly climb into some clothing, grab some weapons—two of Dean’s guns and Cas’s sword, the latter of which he found under a discarded shirt—and make a wobbly attempt at an exist.

Downstairs, no one was in sight. The tremor stopped as he reached the front door. But a low call for his two closest companions, followed by inquiries for the other hunters, yielded zero response. The door hadn’t been locked, either, or even closed properly. He opened it an inch with the barrel of Dean’s handgun and peered outside. He spied a few figures mostly out of view to his right.

As he approached, he saw Cas holding Dean back from the lake. They argued. “Go inside the house,” the angel ordered. “Go! Please, Dean! Go in and close the doors and pray for your life. You don’t have another choice. Please. I won’t watch you die!”

The other hunters were gone, and Sam didn’t know if they were killed or if they’d fled.

“What are you gonna do, huh? The Colt didn’t work. So, what makes you think you can do better? You can’t fly, you can’t fucking see, Cas! How the hell are you—”

The appearance of a familiar angel cut him off.

Sam hurried to Dean’s side, where he found Balthazar’s vessel on her hands and knees at Cas’s feet. To say she was wounded was an understatement. Much of her side and back were ripped to shreds. Every breath taken produced new lines of thick and dark blood that oozed out from what remained of her clothing, which, like her flesh, was in tatters. If she were human, Sam surmised she would easily be dead.

But the wounds, while quite possibly life-threatening, even for a full angel, weren’t the only change in her since the last time they’d met. She literally glowed neon blue, from the ends of her fingers up most the length of her arms. An inhuman mass of flesh and energy, she somehow stood. Deep behind her eyes, which appeared almost lifeless, the glow was there, too.

“Yemaya,” Sam blurt out before he could think it through. “It’s Yemaya.”

“No, you idiot,” Bal’s voice sounded hoarse and more masculine, and the accent was reduced substantially. “Just her energy. She would prefer Raphael’s death to my own. Though not enough to fight by my side.” Balthazar’s expression bordered on sadness. “But she waited too long. I can’t fight anyone, now, as you might’ve observed, even with the power of a goddess.”

“So, what the hell do we do against that?!” Dean gestured, and for the first time Sam noticed a man standing a sizable distance away—out on the surface of Red Lake.

“You will do nothing.” Her tone changed to a little more like what they were used to. Some of the wounds were beginning to close, but the amount of work still needing to be done was staggering. The remnants of her clothes hung off the ripped and broken form. Most of her chest was bare as a result. “Castiel will fight.”

He shook his head emphatically. “Even if you had the strength to fix my eyes, I can’t!”

But his protests had no effect. She limped up to them more like a zombie might than a human or a vessel—compelled to walk despite the mangled body’s perceived inability to do so. “Just as Yemaya gave the power to me, I will give it to you, and then you will kill Raphael. You must do it, or your friends will die today, and so will we.”

“Is that gonna be enough?” Sam asked, skeptical. He pressed the handle of Cas’s sword into his hand. Even blind, he probably knew how to use it better than Sam did, especially considering how well that went last time.

“No,” she said immediately. “Forgive me. This will hurt you.” She moved her fingers to just under Dean’s chin, and his skin lit up in blue.

But he slapped her hand away. “No. No fucking way. You wanna rip the angel mojo out of me? No, and fuck you. I don’t consent. It’s not happening.” Now that it didn’t hurt anymore, and Cas didn’t want it back, he’d grown attached to it in a way. And he did love the feeling it provided, though he had no plans to tell many people about it.

She sighed. Raising her sword, which dripped with her own blood, “You will, or Sam dies.” She pointed the weapon at his brother. “And I will collect his soul for my personal use. Do not tempt me. I will make sure you never see him again. In this life or anywhere.”


	23. Laugh, I Nearly Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Sam gulped and put up his hands. “Dean, don’t listen to her.”

“You touch him, I swear I’ll hunt you down, you bitch,” Dean snarled.

“Balthazar! You wouldn’t—” Cas objected, his thoughts racing. “No, just leave them alone. I’ll fight with the extra power only.”

“Sorry, Cassie. I do not have a choice. What will it be, Dean? Keep the feathers, kill the brother—and eventually everyone else—or clip them and save little Sammy?” She advanced, touching Sam in the chest with the tip of her sword. “Answer now, please.”

Sam kept his eyes on his soulmate. “Dean, don’t—”

“God damn you. Yes,” he growled, and Sam’s heart sank to the ground. “You better hope I don’t see you again.”

The blade dropped and disappeared. Her hand slid down from Dean’s neck to his chest. With a jerk forward, it pierced through his skin and moved deep inside him. He screamed, his knees going weak. Sam stood helpless, afraid to do anything that might cause him to be injured further. He could only watch as Dean writhed in agony.

Cas couldn’t see it, but he knew better than the Winchesters what was occurring. A fully capable angel could reach inside any human and touch the soul. The need might arise to identify certain attributes or maladies, so the ability, though rarely utilized, was important to have. But it was also one of the most painful things that could be done to a living person. And that was before attempting to remove a chunk of energy interwoven with Dean’s soul.

At best, it would likely be the most painful thing the man ever experienced. At worst, he wouldn’t live through it, and his soul would suffer damage so severe that his consciousness might be stripped from it. No afterlife. No anything.

Castiel felt lightheaded. He was powerless to stop her, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Dean being hurt. Even though he knew that this might be their best chance at killing Raphael and ending the onslaught of angelic soldiers, nothing was worth this.

As Bal’s arm penetrated down into him and touched his soul, her blood gushed onto his boots and pants leg. He tried to focus on this fact, or on anything else at all, in an attempt to withstand the pain. But it was a losing battle. When she dug her claws into the wings and began hacking at them, the stabbing and stinging it produced proved too much for him, and he succumbed. Passing out, he was kept upright only by her arm.

When she’d finally slashed and shredded every last connection, Balthazar clenched her fist around it and pulled the energy from him. He slumped onto the ground. Sam fell to his side immediately, looking in pain himself. Cas backed away, but on uneven soil he tripped and fell. Bal descended, pried open his mouth, and shoved the power inside. Seconds later, she pressed both palms against his chest and funneled the cold blue energy in.

He could give only a whimper in protest.

It took a few moments for the stuff to settle in where it belonged. When it did, the lost memories, power, and abilities came flooding back. He stumbled to his feet and staggered away from her, took a few unsteady steps, and then collapsed to his knees.

All at once, every little pain he had ceased. With a thought, he healed his own eyes, and the world filled in around him. Thousands upon thousands of years of his existence returned. All his training. All his vast knowledge on this world and the Kingdom and everyone he’d ever known. All of his missions. Every battle. Every command. The evolution of man and the growth of civilization. His comrades. His loyalty. His old wants and desires.

Comparatively, the last year was hardly a blip. He remembered that it had meant something profound, and he recalled the events, but it seemed insignificant now. If anything, he was embarrassed he’d allowed himself to be so vulnerable—so utterly dependent on the others—and so human.

He pulled his human body, now genetically a vessel, up from the ground and brushed it off. Surrounding him inside it was the new energy, a power so deliciously strong he could hardly believe his good fortune.

As Cas turned toward the archangel with a slight smile, Dean began convulsing. He shook wildly on the ground, curled in a fetal position and unable to speak or even perceive his surroundings. Sam grew frantic, terrified to do anything. Reruns from a handful of medical dramas told him that you shouldn’t try and hold down someone having a seizure, though he had no idea if that was real advice he should be taking.

“Cas, help!” he called after him. Certainly with all his power back, he could heal him. But the angel didn’t turn or even flinch. He simply kept walking toward the water’s edge. “Cas?” his voice strained. “Damnit! Castiel!”

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat. The Cas they knew wouldn’t even think twice about helping if he could—which meant that this was not the Cas they knew. He looked up at Balthazar, who, while still standing, was doubled over. Her hair covered a face rigid with pain. She couldn’t heal Dean, either.  

Panicking, he racked his brain for anyone who might be able to help. The hunters’ absence ruled them out, and anyway, he doubted they would be able to fix whatever this was. Just barely holding it together, he smoothed down Dean’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay,” he assured him, even though he didn’t think Dean could hear, and he didn’t really believe it. “You have to be.”

Castiel continued on, unaffected. When his shoe hit the water, he set about balancing himself on it instead of sinking in. But he didn’t have to go to Raphael. The archangel flew toward him, wearing his intended vessel, a man from Maine named Donnie, if Cas’s new and improved memory served him right. 

But Cas didn’t even flinch. He extended one hand and, drawing on the voodoo goddess’s power, halted him in mid-air. The look of surprise on his face was priceless. With a flick of his wrist, Raphael took a nosedive into the shoreline. Bending down to him, “I’m your God now, brother,” he whispered. “Bow unto me in worship.”

Bloodied and nearly immobile, Raphael managed to lift his head a few inches. He spat in Cas’s direction. “I’d rather die a thousand times than be subservient to a treacherous foot soldier with a fetish for humans!”

“Once will be sufficient.” He stepped on the archangel’s neck and dug his heel in. Cracking his knuckles, he reached down and shoved his fingers into the vessel’s eye sockets. Raphael didn’t cry out. Cas’s newfound power prevented him from struggling. Once he’d latched onto Raphael’s energy, he forced it out through the new openings.  Every bit that filtered from the vessel was immediately obliterated—turned to millions of tiny particles that he then destroyed or scattered beyond any possible recovery. He didn’t stop until the archangel was completely annihilated.

The vessel was damaged significantly, as much from Castiel’s intervention as from housing a creature that had no interest in preserving it properly. It drooled and groaned and bled profusely. It groveled at his feet, pleading for mercy without managing any actual words. Cas happily provided a swift death through a broken neck, which he was kind enough to deliver personally with both hands.

With the battle a success, he set his sights higher. And he had no intention of waiting for discussion about it from Balthazar or anyone else. He took off, pumping his wings through the air for the first time in nearly thirty five years. But he only felt the relatively warm air of the human world for a few seconds before entering the Kingdom, an icy cold dimension created for angels by their Father. It instantly felt like home. It was perfect. As the cold touched and surrounded him, he felt strong and alive.

The only warm parts in Heaven were occupied by the human souls, which for an infinite number of reasons would end up there, generating their own paradises out of memories for the consciousnesses attached to them. But Castiel wasn’t interested in that. In fact, the lower rungs where he’d trained and learned, where he’d come to know his brothers in arms, where he’d made friends and a few enemies, and where he’d first started to question the authorities above him—they meant as little to him now.

No, his destination was high above, higher than he’d ever even dreamed of going. He buzzed past sentries and warriors, healers, and every other type of angel. Some tried to stop him, but their power couldn’t even come close to his, and most were too surprised to act.

At the very top, he found the four domains where each archangel reigned over all others. But they were dark and empty. Gabriel’s and Lucifer’s had been vacant for millennia, but Raphael’s absence was obviously Cas’s doing. He paused in front of the gates to watch the light fade inside. Satisfaction and pride at his accomplishment filled him. But Cas had important business to attend to in the highest circle of Heaven, so he didn’t linger for long.

The walls and doors and barricades couldn’t keep him out. He broke through them one or even two at a time, sheathing himself in the alien blue energy and diving head first toward the center. As he neared, he began to sense Michael inside. Giant and hyper-powerful, the archangel built new blockades almost as quickly as Cas broke them down. Almost. And the extended razing gradually weakened him. The walls came up slower, and flaws in them were easier to find. Three hurdles away, he could feel Michael writhe inside, turning and twisting out of nervousness. The strongest angel ever created was afraid of Castiel.

Michael’s final protection was unsurprisingly the most difficult to break down, but not impossible. He pounded and scratched at the wall of energy, cut into it and dug out pieces. He clawed and shoved until a small opening appeared. It didn’t take much more than that, and he was through.

Inside, Michael uttered a few words of Enochian, warning him that God would punish him directly. But Cas just laughed and wrestled him out of his fortress. If their Father planned to intervene, He would have done it already. His inaction, if anything, simply served to better strengthen Cas’s resolve. Perhaps He’d grown as tired of the archangel’s bureaucracy and staunch control of the Kingdom as Castiel was.

As they tumbled back to earth, Michael fought back, slashing at Cas, cutting and stabbing. His attacks connected now and then, but mostly Yemaya’s energy diverted him away, even burned him wherever he attacked. They hit the ground with a thud, only a few feet from Raphael’s deceased vessel.

There was a larger audience now. With Raphael’s death, the three hunters had rejoined the Winchesters, emerging from their hideouts in the forest. They couldn’t see Michael struggling beneath him. Though Cas appeared to them in his body, he strangled and pinned down an invisible force. But Michael thrashed about, and his many wings kicked up dirt and even rocks, splashed into the water yards away from them, and blew cold wind in their faces.

He got in a few blows to Cas’s physical form, breaking bones and bruising his face, but he simply healed it instantly. When Michael produced his sword—stronger than any other and rumored to have been crafted by God Himself—Cas snatched it away from him. To the humans, it simply materialized in his hand. He reared up with it, and hesitated only an instant, tying to find the best location to bring the blade down.

In that extra second or so, a voice chimed in. “Castiel! Let him go.”

Gabriel. In Cas’s absence, Sam had resorted to praying to the youngest archangel to heal his soulmate.

Cas considered killing Michael right there, but knew it could wait. Instead, he drove the sword through one of his larger wings, pinning him to the ground with it. Michael screeched and roared in agony, but only the angels could hear it. It would have deafened him if he didn’t have the added power, and it rendered the wounded and unprotected Balthazar unconscious. He thought himself fortunate to not be so weak.

Standing, he turned to greet the newcomer with a grin on his face. “Stop me.” He threw his arms out to his sides, beckoning him to take his best shot. But he knew Gabriel had nothing at his disposal that could prevent him from slaying Michael.

“Stop yourself, Castiel. You’re out of control, and I bet you don’t even know it. Let him go. Michael has done nothing to you. He’s not Raphael.”

“He keeps God from the rest of us, lies to make us obedient, and substitutes our Father’s will with his own!” Cas countered. “He has done more against me and my brothers than all demons taken together!”

Gabriel’s usual carefree attitude all but vanished. He stood incredibly still. “Michael’s only interest is in killing Lucifer. He’s a dick, but he hasn’t done any of that stuff. I won’t let you kill him.”

“Then I’ll kill you first,” he concluded, advancing on him with one arm outstretched.

“Hey, Cas, hold on,” a human voice thundered from behind him. Dean rushed up and slipped between him and Gabriel. Sam’s last ditch effort to get help for his brother had paid off. Gabriel healed Dean with hardly an ounce of hesitation. “Man, you don’t have to do this,” he moved closer to Cas. “The threat’s gone. If you keep clearing house like this, there’s not gonna be anyone left.” And, anyway, Gabriel had helped them substantially, through healings and killing Anna and providing knowledge.

The look he gave was foreign to him. “Oh, Dean. You wish you could control me like you once did.”

“Control you?” the question barely escaped from Dean’s lips. He couldn’t even process the accusation. “No. No, Cas. You’re your own person. And you’re very powerful now. I get that. But you’re not a murderer, man. I know you’re not.”

Sam approached, too, while the others hung back. If anyone could talk Cas down, it would be the Winchesters.

Castiel was unfazed. “Oh, but I am. I’m a soldier. Have you forgotten this already? And for all your claims to devotion, you have never trusted my judgment, Dean. How can you love without trust?” He glanced over at Sam with a detached expression. “You can’t, and you don’t. Though it doesn’t matter. With my transformation, I have no use for such things now.”

“What?” the word was hardly audible. He didn’t mean that—right? No, he couldn’t. Whatever was happening with Cas, it must’ve been messing with his head. Dean’s green eyes opened wide and turned glassy. He tried to hide the torrent of emotions that slammed against the inside his skull. Shock. Sadness. Fear. And already a sense of loss—that he may never have the Cas he knew again, that in his place was a monster he didn’t recognize. A monster who didn’t love him. Didn’t care for him. Couldn’t give a shit about him at all.

“You don’t think Dean loves you?” Sam asked with outrage lacing every word.

“Not in any way that is relevant! I’m a god, now, Sam. You show a god love through faith, devotion, and worship. You trust your god. If you do not trust me, you do not love me. And for that alone I could strike you both down. But,” he tilted his head to one side. “I am appreciative of your service during my—extended illness. And I shall grant you both a reprieve.”

“God? Illness?!” Sam couldn’t believe it. “You’re delusional.”

Gabriel took that as his cue and carefully walked around Castiel. He pulled Michael’s sword out of the ground—and out of Michael—and lifted the archangel onto his shoulder. Pausing, “You know, I’ve spent more of my life on earth than upstairs, because I actually like it here. I like humans and the food and everything, even the crap. I love reality TV. I love tabloid magazines. I love all of it. Thanks to what you’ve done, I will have to return, probably for good. And it’s your fault, Castiel. Eternity is a long time to have me as an enemy.” With a snort, he flapped his wings and was gone.

Dean took a large step back. He kept his face an emotionless mask, but inside? He felt like he was dying. There was a giant gaping hole where Cas’s wings once were. And the creature in front of him was not the person he loved. Not at all. He looked like him on the surface, but the posture, the speech, the everything—down to how he smelled—it was all off. The more he looked at the angel, the more his heart broke. If the Cas he knew wasn’t dead, he was shoved down and suppressed by the extra power and what it was doing to him.

“You won’t see me again,” Cas said nonchalantly, starting to walk away. He could have just as easily been ordering a pizza.

Gulping, “And you’re okay with that? Just,” Dean had to fight for every word, “walking away? A whole year with us, with me, gone. Nothing to you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Of course we don’t!” Sam was upset, too. Perhaps not as much as Dean, but it sure felt like it. “Just a few hours ago, you—you loved. You cared. I know you gained all this power, but that’s still gotta be in you! Deep down, it’s gotta be there. Stay with us. Stay, Cas. It’ll come back to you, I know it. You can’t leave. Not now.” He couldn’t handle the idea of Castiel taking off right after they’d just been together. They’d only just bonded, and gotten to really know and like each other. And now it might be gone forever.

“I’m asking you. Only once,” Dean spoke past a clenched jaw. “And I’m not gonna ask again. If there’s any of you left in there, will you stay and try to get it back?”

“I don’t envy your emotions,” he replied with a slight smile that sickened Sam and stirred up rage in Dean. “And I have no interest in re-obtaining them. Why would I choose pain over power? What is the value in that?”

Translation: what was the value in their relationship? None. Cas didn’t see any upside to being in love, to having what they had. It was all meaningless to him. Worthless. Dean was worthless in his eyes. The hunter sniffed heavily, fixing his gaze on the ground. “You leave now, don’t you ever come back. I mean it. I don’t wanna fucking see you again.” Hell, he didn’t want to see him in that instant.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Sam reached out to stop him from taking off, but he was gone before the hunter could touch him. “God damnit!” he cursed, kicking at the ground. He broke down, with five people watching. He didn’t care. Cas may as well have been dead. He was gonna mourn. Right fucking now. From eyes that he forced shut, tears welled and streamed down his cheeks.

But as soon as he began sobbing, he was struck with a sudden and obvious realization. If this brought him to tears, Dean must be utterly heartbroken, if not dangerously unstable. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to pull himself together. Sam couldn’t imagine a more important time to be strong for him. He had to. He felt like shit and just wanted to crawl back into a dark room, preferably with Dean, and bawl like a small child. But without help, Dean might just self-destruct. That’s how he dealt with loss. He didn’t deal at all. He just imploded. And Sam wasn’t prepared to let that happen.

He tiptoed over to Dean and gently lifted his head so he had to look Sam in the eye. He stopped short of kissing him in front of the others, but he wasn’t going to back off and leave him by himself. Dean was on the verge of crying, too, but he fought it with every scrap of his willpower. Sam had certainly seen him break down before, but Rufus and Ellen hadn’t, and he couldn’t remember if Bobby had or not. Dean sure as hell didn’t want them to witness it now.

Sam embraced him. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

As they disconnected, Bobby walked up and patted the older Winchester on the back. He directed Rufus to take care of the body that once housed the archangel, and asked Ellen to see if she could steal some transportation. The noises caused by angelic battling surely drew attention, and they wouldn’t be able to stay there for much longer. As Bobby headed back toward the house, the group heard a loud scream that emanated from Balthazar, who regained consciousness on the ground.


	24. After the Gold Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

But when she spoke, it wasn’t English, and it was frantic. Fear was painted all over her face. She managed to get up to her hands and knees, but when she noticed the others, she started speaking directly to them—not that they could understand.

“Hey-uh, Bobby?” Sam said with a scratchy voice. “What’s Bal saying? You speak that, right?”

“Damnit, boy, that ain’t Japanese. What kinda ignant—” but he dropped it. The argument wasn’t worth the effort. “I only know some basic Mandarin.”

“Well, can you try?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He listened for a little while, before letting out a grunt. “Well, one thing’s for sure, that ain’t Balthazar. It’s the girl who owns that body.” Addressing her, “Uh—nǐ hǎo ma? Nǐ jiào shénme míngzi?” He knew his pronunciation was atrocious, and he could only imagine how many mistakes he could be making.

“Wo—jiào—Gāo Lihua,” she whimpered. “Gāo Lihua. “ After, she posed a question, but he couldn’t understand it.

“Her name’s Lihua,” he told them. “Umm, nǐ shì nǎguórén?” He asked her where she was from.

Chóngqìng. She was from the city of Chóngqìng. But the questions and flourish of other words that followed came too fast for Bobby to comprehend. He guessed she might be asking where she was and who they were, but mostly she was generally just being afraid.

“Damnit, hold on now. Lihua, calm down. Uh—fuck—” In broken phrases, he asked her to slow it down. But when she did, he still had a very hard time understanding. “Duìbùqǐ, Gāo Lihua,” he apologized.  Giving up, he asked her if she spoke English.

She sniffed. “Uh, a little. Who-who are…?” She motioned toward the trio. Ellen had long since disappeared, and Rufus went back to body dumping.

“We’re hunters,” Dean answered for him. “We kill bad things.”

“Well, I’m Bobby, and that’s Dean. And that’s his brother Sam.”

“I have seen you,” she looked at the brothers. “You killed Balthazar? He is dead?”

“Wish I had,” Dean helped her up from the ground. “He must have taken off with his best pal.”

Bobby removed his vest and put it on her to cover her up. Luckily, only her clothing was still shredded. As far as they could see, all of her wounds had been fully healed, though her hair was matted with blood, and she seemed a little disoriented.

Lihua’s eyes danced across the landscape. “America?” She spit out the word as though it disgusted her.

“Yeah.”

Her face contorted. “How will I get home? I have a family. They must think—” she started crying again. “I have gone for so long! Wǒ děi zǒu le! Wǒ zǒu le!” She started to stagger away from them, but Bobby grabbed her and held her in place.

“Girl, you ain’t gettin’ anywhere by walking. We’re not near anything,” Bobby tried to be reassuring. “We’ll take you to a hospital. Or an airport or somethin’. But you gotta stay with us until then. We ain’t gonna hurt you. We’ll get you back to your family. We’re gonna leave right away.” He motioned to the boys to go and start packing as Ellen pulled up with a car. She eyed the group, her lips moving as she counted. Cursing, Ellen took off back down the path to the street. They would need two cars to accommodate all six people, along with their belongings. She silently kicked herself for not getting an SUV.

Dean headed for the cabin, but Sam hesitated. “If you have a family, then why would you say yes to Balthazar? Why would you leave them?”

She choked down a sob. “In my life, I am very successful. Too much. My business partner—he wished to force me out, but when he could not, he shot me and dumped me in a dirty alley.” She clenched her hand into a fist. “My grandmother used to say when you die spirits of your ancestors come and visit with you. Balthazar, he somehow knew this! He lied about who and what he was. He said he can heal me if I let him walk for awhile. But he did not say I could never make him leave!” she cried into Bobby’s coat. “I have seen too much. No, never again.”

“Come on. I’ll take you to the car.” Bobby’s paternal instincts were showing.

When all the things were gathered, the group split. The other hunters took Lihua and headed south. She had no passport or visa, but with a little money, that wouldn’t a problem.

Sam and Dean returned to Bobby’s house only long enough to retrieve the Impala before setting about putting as much heartland between the cabin and themselves. All of Cas’s possessions that he didn’t take with him were left in a heap at the lake. Dean couldn’t even look at the items—a few spare pieces of clothing, shoes, little things. He might have burned them if they had time. When he was out of sight, Sam rifled through the items and pocketed a lighter and a small knife. The Cas they cared about might be gone, but if even a slight positive could come in the form of useful items, he’d welcome it.

But he knew nothing would ever quite make up for it, and he had no idea how they could even begin healing the wounds.

***

That night, Dean was inconsolable. He dropped his bag near the door and sat on one of the beds facing away from Sam. For several minutes, he didn’t move or speak. But eventually his shoulders began to shake, and his head drooped. He buried his face in his hands.

Sam couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen him this upset. He couldn’t be sure what to do. Should he give him space? Go to him? He opted for a middle ground, taking a seat next to him but remaining silent. After a long time, he put his arm around him. What he wanted to do was to comfort him, to hold him and touch him, tell him he didn’t need that heartless—soulless—piece of shit masquerading as an angel. All that creature caused was pain. He was better off without him. He deserved better. And everything he needed was right here. His soulmate was right here.

But he kept his mouth shut and his actions platonic. He didn’t think saying any of that would help Dean and his despair. And it certainly wouldn’t stop Dean from blaming himself for what happened, which Sam was certain he did, at least a little. That’s what Dean always did. An immortal creature ripped his heart out and poured acid on it, and Dean would find a way to think it was his fault. That he’d done something to deserve it. That if he’d just said or done the right things, Cas would still be here, and he would still love him.

It made Sam’s blood boil. But his neutral approach paid off. As the night wore on, and Dean’s body couldn’t take any more crying, he slowly began to appreciate Sam being there. He was vulnerable as all hell, miserable, weak—but Sam didn’t care, and he didn’t ask for anything or pressure him. He was just there.

He kicked off his boots and lifted his head. Sam gave him a look infused with caring. He reached over and wiped some of the tears from Dean’s cheek, but removed his hand quickly. Standing, “You should get some rest, Dean.” The smile Sam produced took a little work. “Long day.” He migrated over to the other bed, took off his jacket, and folded down the covers.

Dean watched him a long time before speaking. “You think you might want some company?”

“What?”

“C’mon, man. You heard me.” The question was difficult enough the first time around.

He shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, Dean. It’s okay if you need time.”

“Dude, I’m asking.”

Sam walked back over to him and looked down.

He glared up at him. Couldn’t Sam just say he would and be done with it? Dean didn’t really want to have a philosophical conversation. Not this night. As far as he was concerned, if they could have sex, they could sleep in the same bed. It wasn’t exactly any crazier, and he was too worn out to read into it as deeply as Sam obviously was.

Nodding, “Okay.” He sat down on the other bed slowly.

Without further hesitation, Dean joined him. Sam wrapped his arms around him as he nestled in surprisingly close, just under his chin. He could smell a hint of the leather from Dean’s car in his hair. Warm and still very strong despite his fragile state, Dean lay against Sam’s chest and side, closing his eyes. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed against Sam as he found the most comfortable position, and the bridge of his nose brushed against his neck.

In that instant, he knew he wanted to spend every night for the rest of their lives exactly like this. The only thing he would change was Dean’s sorrow. As Sam’s own eyes began to close from sheer exhaustion, a voice spoke so softly he thought for a moment he dreamed it. “It’s just us now, you know.”

He gave a single nod in response. He wanted to say—to scream—that he knew it would be enough, that it was how things were supposed to be, that, once he healed, it would be better in the long run. God, he just wanted to gush about it. No one else was around. Why couldn’t he? Dean could talk to him if no one else, surely he could listen—

“Hell, you’re probably happy about that.”

The words carried a sting with them that cut into Sam. He straightened his back out of tension. “Are you serious? No. No way, Dean. I don’t ever want to see you hurt. You know that,” he said faster than he thought he could. He wasn’t sad that he could have Dean to himself, but he absolutely hated the circumstances, especially after having spent some quality time with the angel himself. “I’d rather share you.”

“But you’re glad you don’t have to, right?” he stared off at a random point on the far wall. He couldn’t see a big downside for Sam. As far as he could figure, Sam didn’t really lose much, while Dean felt like he lost almost everything. Everything except Sam. But even then? The soul he had was Swiss cheese now. It hurt. It was damaged. For all he knew, their bond could suffer from that, too.

“I love you,” Sam said as sternly as he could muster. “More than anything. And Castiel is an asshole who hurt you. The way he talked to you—the shit he said—you know what? Damn right. I hope he stays gone. I hope Yemaya guts him! He doesn’t deserve you, Dean. And you deserve better.” He could feel his heart race, and he wondered if Dean, being so close to it, could feel it, too. “I would never do that to you. You get that, right? I don’t even like seeing you get upset. About anything. I just wanna fix it.”

He gulped. “You think you can fix me, Sammy? This shit—it did a number on me, dude. I dunno if I have a whole lot left. I mean, I feel like I’m not even worth anything.” After all, he wasn’t worth anything to Cas, was he? The thought brought tears back to his eyes. He closed them so Sam wouldn’t see.

“Yeah, I do,” he said simply, holding him as close as he could. “You’re not broken, Dean. You’re just hurting. But I got your back, okay? You just have to trust that I’ll be there. Even if you don’t feel like it, or if no one else seems to, you’re worth pretty much everything to me.”

Whoa. Sam didn’t skimp on the heavy talk. But there was only one response to that. He inhaled sharply. “I trust you.”

Trust was a more difficult thing to get from Dean than love, so Sam counted himself lucky. He kissed Dean’s temple and leaned back a little to get comfortable. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

Dean nodded once in response, but said nothing further. He fell asleep sooner than Sam expected. The younger Winchester tried to stay awake as long as he could, just to take it all in, but the warmth and exhaustion took hold of him and dragged him away.

***

Months drifted by. The two got right back into the grind, following leads, taking cases, and killing creatures. But as much as this was familiar and standard fare for them, they couldn’t erase the last year. Castiel and the chaos he created were often on their minds. Sam would come back from an errand and find Dean a mess, or he might have a nightmare and wake suddenly at Sam’s side. As the days progressed, it became clear that Dean even had physical—psychic?—pain in the form of a jagged gash in his soul where Balthazar had ripped the power from him.

Sam had to contend with both wounds. But he picked his battles. If it was really bad, Sam dropped everything to try and make him feel a little less lost and dejected. It might take hours of talking, reassuring, and touching to piece him back together, but he was up to the task. When Dean needed him, he vowed to be there. And he was, with kisses, alcohol, and every soothing word he could think of.

For the small pangs or times when he simply caught Dean staring off into space, he stopped calling attention to it and looked for ways to distract him. It was all he could do, really. The problems persisted, and probably would for a long time, but slowly the intervals between them gradually increased.

Since it was just them again, they didn’t try very hard to suppress their urges to be together. In fact, sex became a regular occurrence, especially right after a successful hunt. Dean would get so riled up with all the adrenaline and tension—it made it a lot easier. He could better deal with it in those moments or after a few beers. He just went with what felt right. And it—he—felt very, very good.

In downtime, though, he still found it all very weird. Uncomfortable. He couldn’t separate out the fact that they were related, couldn’t stop obsessing over having helped raise him—and couldn’t help but feel guilty, like he was taking advantage of him. Like his little brother, who’d practically worshiped him at different stages of his life, was just following an order or doing what Dean wanted him to do. Even when Sam was consoling him.

But it couldn’t be further from the truth! Sam had come onto him, even before he knew they were soulmates. Granted, he’d been drunk, but he’d still done it, and apart from thinking himself sick in the head, he hadn’t really regretted the act. And then he’d done it again, and many times since. Dean was hesitant to initiate when he wasn’t buzzed in some way, so Sam did. He didn’t even mind doing it, too much. He was willing to work for it.

And, deep down, Dean had to know that.

A few changes to their routine began to turn things in Sam’s favor, however. Single rooms with one bed were cheaper, and they had no good reason not to go for them. Whenever they weren’t taking turns staying up for their own protection, they fell asleep together. The closeness afforded from it helped ease Dean’s discomfort a little over time. It didn’t go away, and the work was slow, but Sam tried to be patient.

They also stopped telling people they were brothers. It was no less true, even now, but on the rare occasion where they didn’t use completely false identities—when they got to conversing with a person they’d saved, for instance—they tried not to bring it up at all or said they were good friends. If pressed about the single bed or about their intimacy, or even about being caught just a little closer than normal friends would ever be, they’d refer to each other as “partner.” That usually got the point across.

To other hunters, the opposite was true. They were strictly brothers. They had to be, in case word got back to Bobby and the ones they knew. They simply didn’t want to have to explain it, or be judged and shunned. Especially not by Bobby. He was the closest thing they had to family other than each other, and the thought of him freaking out made them both sick to their stomachs. So, they found excuses. The single room? Only one of them ever slept at a time. The closeness? C’mon. Family was the most important thing. And all they had was each other. And besides, that was gross. They were brothers.

It didn’t quite sit well with either of them to boil it down to that or to hide, in either instance. But there wasn’t really a good way around it. They could only have both worlds in private. In order to preserve it, whenever possible, they blocked intrusions into their world and kept others at a distance.

But the more Dean kept strangers back, the more he opened up to Sam, and the more he talked to him, touched him, and accepted he was there to stay. The only two problems that remained were Dean’s heartache at losing Cas, and a general lack of romance. Both were difficult undertakings in their own right, but Sam was determined to tackle them both.

Dean accepted the consolation Sam provided, but at first he rarely did much more than calm down or give in. Slowly but surely, though, Sam managed to get Dean to talk to him, both occasionally about Cas and surprisingly often about their own relationship.

Whether after sex or before sleep, they made pillow talk a regular occurrence. Topics up for discussion included everything from post-analysis of a hunt to thinking about going to see a new movie. If they went at an off time, sat in the back, they could be really close, and no one would notice or care.

Tonight’s conversation began as several had before: the merits of being more open with each other around complete strangers. Sam broached the subject, of course, since it was a constant nagging urge he carried around with him.

The obvious big con was being found out by people, with particular emphasis on those who mattered. But there were pros to it, as well, and not just because it would make Sam incredibly happy. If they weren’t focusing on hiding and on controlling or suppressing every little move or word, they could better focus on their jobs. They could keep their attention on survival. It would be safer, he argued, if they were just themselves.

Dean had his nose buried in Sam’s hair. So close to his ear, he had to speak softly. “What if we—man—what if I call you the wrong thing or let it slip?”

Sam could feel Dean’s breath on his neck. He shrugged. “Part of our cover, or a euphemism. But I doubt we’d mention something people would pick up on during a fight, at least not enough to say anything. And we can be careful when things are quiet,” he explained. “And anyway, the great thing about what we do is that these people are all strangers, Dean. We’re probably never gonna see them again.”

“Maybe.”

“And I just want to,” he insisted, staring up at the ceiling. “You were open with Cas, at least every now and then. And I know he was different, and I’m not trying to be him. God help me, I wouldn’t even want to try. But I also don’t wanna be your secret. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for you, but I don’t think we should have to hide—you know?—around people who mean nothing to us. I don’t give a shit about strangers’ opinions. I care about being with you.”

He sighed. “Dude, you _are_ with me. Constantly.”

“That’s not what I mean. With him,” he silently cursed himself for bringing Castiel up at all, “you didn’t really watch what you said or did around him in public. You didn’t care. I want that, too.”

“It’s not that easy, Sammy.”

He shot a look at Dean but saw an expression shadowed with pain. “Well, nothing for us has ever been easy. But when we rely on each other—when we trust each other—as far as I’ve seen, it gets a whole lot better than when we don’t.”

“I just don’t get how acting like a couple while on the job is gonna do a damn thing to help that.” He sat up and wiped at his face. He couldn’t handle being that close to Sam while having this type of conversation. Too much conflict mixed with attraction. He counted himself lucky that Sam never really tried to manipulate him into giving him a more favorable answer in these arguments, because he easily could. The right innocent, emotional look—the right touch—and he’d say anything.

But Sam very much preferred honesty. “I don’t know.” Did it have to be rational? He knew that acting naturally without reservations would just make everything go more smoothly, but even if it had no effect at all, wasn’t it enough that he wanted it? He had needs, too. Dean had to see that. But maybe it was a lot simpler than being slighted. Maybe he was just afraid. “Well, if it helps, we—umm—we could start acting like one on our own first. Just us.”

“You don’t think we’re doin’ that already, Sam?” he motioned across them both, calling attention to their distinct lack of attire.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then how?”

Sam sat up, too, and moved behind him. He flung one arm across his chest, dropping his chin to Dean’s shoulder. “I have an idea.” He ran one hand down the back of Dean’s arm. It stopped at his elbow and rested there lightly. “Next town we hit up.”

“What, like a date?”

“Just trust me.”


	25. Human Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

“One more second.”

Dean heard rustling. Footsteps, metal clicking together, and a sliding glass door opening and closing again. He waited impatiently by the room’s entrance.

“Okay. Open ‘em.”

When he did, the first thing he focused on was Sam, who had an incredible smile on his face. He’d dressed up, too, wearing a close-fitting collared shirt in a dark blue color. He’d left it practically halfway open, like a bouncer at a club or the cover of an awful romance novel. But the comparison ended there. He glowed, and for whatever reason, he seemed proud of himself. Confident.

Sam bit into his lower lip. “What do you think?”

“You look amazing.” He said the first thing that came to mind.

“No, I mean—” but he blushed. “Thanks.” He took a few steps to the side, and Dean finally saw what he’d spent the better part of an hour working on in their motel room.

There was a table set up outside, covered in cold beer and chocolate, among other items he couldn’t see. But more importantly, next to it was a circular structure with steaming water bubbling and gurgling about inside. “You got us a room—with a hot tub?” he asked almost chidingly, but when Sam turned to glance at him, he found Dean grinning. “I like hot tubs.”

He walked past Sam, pausing only for a few seconds to finish sizing him up. Those jeans had to be new, and they hugged him in all the right places. He proceeded to the patio, sliding the door and leaving it open for him. Once outside, he stripped off his shirt and looked over his shoulder at him. With a tilt of his head, he motioned for Sam to join him.

The table held every kind of cliché romantic thing Sam’d been able to procure, from Valentine’s Day sweets—even though the holiday wasn’t for almost a month—to fresh strawberries and, yes, even flowers. Instead of champagne, he opted for two kinds of beer that they both liked, but arranged them in a bucket of ice all the same. Around the Jacuzzi, table, and fogged glass walls that kept them from outside view, he’d lit a few dozen little white candles. They reflected off the scratched up metal pail and sat on the edge by the water.

Dean eyed it all with skepticism. He couldn’t imagine how any of this stuff, except maybe the beer, would help them in the romance department. Real couples didn’t do most of this crap, did they? He wasn’t exactly an expert at emotional intimacy, though lately he’d managed to get himself into it often enough. But no way was he going for sprinkling rose petals and feeding each other chocolate.

One thing he did know about dating, though, was that the more you planned stuff out and tried to stick with it, the worse things went. It was true with one-night stands, and it was true with lengthy relationships. The hot tub was a good surprise, and one that he was very interested in trying out, but the rest? No, they could do better than that.

When Sam nervously joined him outside and began pulling his shirt up over his head, Dean stopped him, and tugged it back down. “Now, hey! Hold on, Sammy. Hell,” he smiled mischievously, “you’re doing it wrong. A shirt like this? You’ll stretch it out! Here,” he took hold of the garment and slowly started unbuttoning it, moving in as close as possible. As his fingers worked, Sam became visibly turned on. His face flushed red, and his mouth hung open a little.

At his belt, Dean kept going. The buckle didn’t put up a fight. And the fly practically slid down on its own. With both hands on his waistband, he pulled Sam until their hips, and everything in between, connected.

“You wanna be treated right?” he asked in a whisper at Sam’s ear. That was the overarching reason for all this, wasn’t it? Sam wanted the full package, the full benefits of a romantic relationship. And he was tired of waiting for Dean to get around to it. He couldn’t really blame him. “Well, you’ve earned it, and you deserve it. And you know, it’s about time you got to feel like you do.” He pulled Sam’s shirt the rest of the way off and moved to toss it by the door—but changed his mind and set it on a semi-clean patio chair. The tight jeans took a bit more work, but with help, they were around his ankles. “Go on,” he instructed. “Get in.”

Vulnerable and exposed—and eager to avoid the bursts of cold air not chased away by the hot water—he quickly slipped into the tub, and let out a gasp at the high temperature. Dean sauntered over to the table and grabbed a beer. Opening it, he took a sip before bringing the whole bucket over and setting it on the raised wooded edge behind Sam. He stripped down to nothing.

An idea rattled around in his head, but he didn’t love the follow-through. It was unusual. It was embarrassing. And he knew Sam would fucking love it.

“Not a word, dude,” Dean ordered, stepping in with him. As the hot water hit the back of his legs, he sighed and went for it. Nobody else was around, he reminded himself. Nobody but Sam. He threw one leg over Sam’s lap and straddled him. Part of Dean raged against it, but he told himself it didn’t matter. His arms wrapped around Sam’s shoulders. He leaned in to kiss him—as much an act of sensuality as it was an attempt to hide how uncomfortable he felt doing something that seemed, at least to him, so incredibly feminine.

The move more than surprised the younger hunter. It _was_ different. It _was_ unusual for Dean. But maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to show Sam that he could be spontaneous and that he was willing to venture outside of his comfort zone to try something new. And maybe, somewhere down in the back of his mind, he wanted another excuse to show Sam that he trusted him.

Whatever the motivation, it turned him on. It was unbelievably sexy, seeing him like this. Sam ran his hands up from Dean’s thighs to the base of his spine and squeezed. His face was already flustered, and Dean had hardly done anything.

Though he expected Dean to eventually readjust or escalate things, he didn’t. He remained there, perched on Sam’s lap in the hot water, just kissing him slowly, methodically. He moved his hips a little, now and then, sending bolts of sensation up through Sam’s body. But he made no aggressive acts and showed no intention of trying to bed him. After awhile, he relaxed, shoved his misgivings deep down and locked them away, and just lived in the moment.

It was almost too much for Sam to bear. Here Dean was, giving him as much personal and romantic attention as he could muster, simply because Sam had asked for it. Dean’s gorgeous eyes had long since closed, but Sam kept his open just enough to flood all of his senses with the experience. It felt like an hour before they finally came up for air.

“We should do this a lot,” Dean breathed, letting his arms slip a little until his hands rested on Sam’s chest. He stared at him with a sort of lethargic ecstasy written into the lines on his face.

“You’d want to?”

“Hell yes,” he kissed him again. “Remember that vampire gig a few weeks ago? Every muscle I have was sore as fuck for days. One of these babies? Man.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah, it’s just practical for hunters. We should write our union rep. Tell them to put hot tubs into the benefits package.”

“Right, along with free dental and exorcisms for the whole family.”

Sam took hold of him at the nape of his neck and pulled him forward for a passionate kiss. Dean let him. In fact, he was prepared to do pretty much anything Sam wanted. That’d been his intent from the get-go, but becoming thoroughly aroused made it a natural reaction to the situation.

The only difficult part was not applying any pressure to go further. They probably wouldn’t try and take it to the next level in the tub itself—he could think of a least half a dozen reasons why that might not go well—but there were many other options. A bed was only a few feet away. Or maybe they could be a little creative. Bending over a sink had gone exceptionally well the other day. Maybe they could do that again. Or up against a wall. Hell, even the floor.

But if they were flexible and creative in how they got busy, and he’d already proven he was just as flexible romantically, then he could be creative, too.

He spent a moment or so thinking it over. After a long swig of his beer, he had an idea. “Hey, lean back,” he directed.

With a little maneuvering, Sam sank lower into the water, and Dean backed up from the edge accordingly. He reached into the metal bucket until his fingertips found a cold ice cube. When he brought it into view, Sam’s eyes widened, “No!” he protested. “Dean, don’t you dare—ahh!” The shock as it touched his skin was intense. It almost hurt at first, but given the contrast with the steaming water around them, Sam quickly found he actually liked it.

Dean slowly moved the ice down Sam’s chest. Freezing water dripped through the channels between his muscles as it melted. He writhed, gripping the tub’s edge with both hands. “Ahh, oh God,” he exhaled loudly. “Why—why is that working? Oh fuck.”

The older hunter grinned ear to ear. “No idea.” But he’d seen it done in porn every once in awhile and figured the contrast of hot and cold might make it even better. He was glad to be right.

As the ice melted away, he moved the remnants over to Sam’s pec and pressed it in with his thumb. He kept it there until the whole thing turned to liquid. His tongue replaced the ice, and the heat from that, quite ironically, sent a shiver through him. He worked his way up Sam’s chest and neck to his bottom lip, where he kissed him agonizingly slow. And gentle, too.

It was a far cry from their usual—fast and passionate and, often times, a little rough. He held back on the fire that typically consumed them. He squelched it with all the willpower he could call up, and he diverted it to the feeling that replaced every other thought in his head: just because he didn’t have to work to keep Sam by his side, to keep him in love and wanting more—didn’t mean he had no obligation to put in the effort.

He wanted to.

Sam deserved to be treated exactly how Dean felt about him. More than just thinking he needed to be protected or that he was so attractive it practically hurt to look at him. In truth, Dean couldn’t live without him. He couldn’t even stand being away from him for long. And he defined himself by Sam’s welfare and happiness. Someone who could mean that much to him—how could he treat him like his existence and devotion was a given? It couldn’t be farther from reality. A thousand different creatures and events could easily take him away, but he was still here, in Dean’s arms, where he could keep him as close as humanly possible.

With his arms returning to rest on Sam’s shoulders, he kissed him for a few minutes before ceasing. He brought his mouth to Sam’s left ear, and with the kind of confidence that could only come from absolute certainty in the truth of a matter, he spoke. “I want everything to be like this. Like us together right now. I don’t care what the hell we’re doing or where we are.”

Water dripped off of Sam’s hand as it glided up Dean’s side. “Close? Or open with each other?

“Both.”

Sam gulped. “In public, too?”

Closing his eyes, he nodded.

“Okay, Dean.” He wasn’t sure he believed his brother would actually follow through with it, even if he wanted to in that instant. When push comes to shove, would he be able to override the fear of being found out? It might not matter how good this felt. Since Dean knew he could have it whenever he wanted, he might still be reluctant to show Sam any affection around other people.

But Dean’s next words brought Sam’s skepticism to a grinding halt. “I-umm—I’m in love with you, Sammy.”

Stunned, “You’ve never said that before. I mean, not directly.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sayin’ it now,” he returned. “But it’s been true. You shoulda heard it a lot sooner, I know. I’m sorry.” He lifted himself up a little so they could make eye contact. “You’re all I got. And everything I care about. It’s all you.”

His whole body seemed to plead for Sam to understand. But Sam couldn’t help himself. “Only me?” he found himself asking.

Dean felt something break inside him, somewhere near the gaping wound left in his soul. But as much as he’d loved Cas and loved being with him—still did, really—he’d been abandoned. Ripped apart. And reduced down to nothing in the angel’s eyes. He’d been left behind, and holding on wouldn’t do any good, especially not with Sam here. No, Sam was the rightful and preordained real-deal. He was the literal true love of Dean’s life. Cas, on the other hand, had been an aberration. A fast and painful blip on the radar. It was always going to be just Sam and Dean in the end.

“Just you.” He didn’t look away. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Caught between producing a smile and his eyes welling up, Sam embraced him. His hair brushed against Dean’s cheek, and the older Winchester leaned into it.

One word and one word only repeated itself in Sam’s head: “ _Finally._ ” Finally, he would get Dean entirely to himself. He wouldn’t have to share, physically or emotionally. They would be together and in love and happy. And no one, angel or not, would be able to stop them.

Finally.

***

The red plastic shopping basket dangled mostly empty at Sam’s side. He stared at the rows of colorful snack foods with disinterest, his eyelids drooping. He had about a hundred different little cuts all over from their most recent job, and every muscle ached. All he wanted to do was sleep in a bed. He most certainly did not want to be grocery shopping.

But Dean was in far worse shape, having received a concussion and broken his wrist bad enough to require an ER visit and a cast, along with other more difficult to explain injuries, some of which he was able to successfully hide from the overworked medical staff. And there wouldn’t be a bed, either. This tiny Oklahoma town didn’t have any motels or even an inn they could settle for. So, instead, they were squatting in a foreclosed house with no furniture to speak of or any real amenities.

And if Dean was going to heal at all, he needed food, basic supplies, and a handful of prescription meds Sam had to get filled. He’d gotten the pills already—after begging the pharmacist to fill them, twenty minutes after that part of the store was supposed to close. And he’d bought a couple of new pillows, which he had tucked under his arm.

Food was a different story. Everything Dean put on the list was junk, mostly because all he ate was junk, but Sam wanted to get more than that. He quickly grabbed a handful of things from the crumpled piece of paper—chips, soda, and little, pre-packaged cherry pies—before heading off toward the soup and boxed rice section. There, he picked a few items that he could cook reasonably well on the old hot plate they brought with them. As he was surveying the basket to figure out if he’d forgotten anything, a cold breeze moved his hair and crept down the back of his collar.

In his peripheral vision, he could see someone or something standing behind him. He set the basket down and balanced the pillows on top of it. When he reached for another box on the shelf with one hand, he pulled a gun from inside his jacket. He swiveled on one heel, pointed the weapon, and prayed it wasn’t a store employee.

“Holy shit!” his exclaimed, backing up into the shelf and knocking some cans onto the floor. “Damnit,” he muttered, hiding the gun again. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

The figure didn’t say or even do anything. He just stared back at Sam.

“Answer me, you fucking asshole. Or don’t I warrant a response from a ‘god’? Whatever it is you want, I refuse. Fuck off, Castiel.”

“You’re angry,” he said in a low voice.

He wanted to hit him. “Oh, you think? Fuck you. Do you have any idea the damage you caused? The pain? Of course I’m angry. I’m fucking pissed.” He picked up the items and headed toward the front of the store. Unloading everything on the conveyor belt, he put on a courteous face for the cashier. But Cas had followed him, and stood silent only a few paces away.

She rung up the items in silence, but her dark eyes kept a wary glance on Cas. When he offered up a credit card to pay, she said in a quiet voice, “Sir, do you need me to call somebody? I heard the yellin’. If this guy is harassin’ you—hey, you don’t gotta put up with it just ‘cause yer—ya know. I mean, this is a Podunk little town, but we treat people right around here. I mean that.”

It took Sam a moment to understand what she was getting at. The cashier thought he was in a domestic dispute. He called up a nice big smile for her. “No-uh, I’m sorry to alarm you, miss. It’s not like that.” He put on his best empathetic expression. “That jerk, well, he’s my-uh—my sister’s ex. He thinks—wrongly,” he glared at the angel before turning back, “that I’ll put in a good word for him. But since that’s not happening, he’ll head back to where he came from. Won’t you, Lucas?”

Castiel didn’t make a sound. With his lips subtly forming a grimace, he dropped his glance to the floor.

“Oh!” she looked flustered. “Sorry about that, sir.” She took his card and finished ringing him up. He thanked her and headed out with the supplies. When he looked back, Cas was no longer behind him.

But once he started the car and headed down the road, the angel appeared in the passenger seat. It rightfully startled him. Cas didn’t say anything right away, but simply sat there with his hands in his lap. He squinted out the window. Then, “It’s good to see you, Sam.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Only reason you’re here is because you don’t have the balls to talk to Dean. All your power and strength, and you can’t have a damn conversation. Because you’re a fucking coward. It’s the same reason you left. You couldn’t take things getting difficult, so you split. You’d rather hurt Dean—hurt me—than have to actually try at something.”

He carefully placed one hand on Sam’s back. “I know that he does not wish to see me, but my bond with you is different. We were just friends.”

Just friends?! Just friends who had very intense and intimate sex a couple of hours before Cas Hulked out and went off the grid! Sam sure as hell didn’t think of them as just friends at the time, even though they never went on a date, nor did they discuss the emotional implications. The sex upped the ante for him. Dean may have been able to have one-night stands with strangers and acquaintances without thinking twice—though that could’ve been because he was incapable of falling for anyone else with a soul—but Sam didn’t think he would be able to do that in any situation. And he certainly couldn’t do it with someone he’d lived and traveled with for a year.

He couldn’t separate sex and emotional attraction at all. Even sex as wild and different as theirs. When he and Cas got together, it was because it felt right on both fronts. And falling asleep together afterward only solidified it. His sudden departure stung, and not just because he abandoned and refused to help Dean. That soon after they’d been together—it hurt him, too. It felt like he’d been stood up.

Sam clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. “Well, we’re not friends, Castiel. We don’t have a bond. Not anymore. We don’t have anything. You fucking made sure of that. I don’t want to see you. Get your hand off me, and get the fuck out of my brother’s car. And if you come near Dean—I don’t care why—I swear to God I will find a way to kill you. You won’t hurt him again. I’m not gonna let that happen. I’m not gonna let you fucking do that again.” And he wasn’t going to risk having to share Dean, too. No way. Not after all the work they’d put into getting it right. “He doesn’t need you anymore. He doesn’t want you. And neither do I. Stay out of our lives.”

When he looked over, the seat was empty. He didn’t know how much of what he’d said had gotten through. He hoped it was enough to keep the son of a bitch gone for good.

It wasn’t long before he pulled up outside the abandoned house. He needed only about a minute to regain composure—double-checking himself in the rearview mirror—before going inside. He set most of the things down by the door and crept over to Dean, who lay on top of every blanket they had and a few clothes, as well. With a creak in one of the floorboards, Dean pried open an eye. Smiling weakly, “Hey, you’re back.”

“How’s the everything? You look like hell.” Sam noted as he rifled through one of the bags. Once he located the heavy-duty painkillers, he wrestled with the packaging until he had two in his hand. He selected an orange-flavored sports drink in a bulky bottle and brought them over. Kneeling at his side, “These’ll make you feel pretty awesome, though.”

Dean sat up a little, holding onto Sam’s shoulder for support. Moaning, “Man, they better. This sucks.” He took the two pills and popped them both into his mouth at the same time. Holding his head up with one hand, Sam helped him drink. Only about two-thirds of the liquid made it down his throat. The rest splashed to the floor. When he was done, he slumped back down, slowed by Sam’s grip.

He leaned forward and kissed Dean on the cheek. Lifting his head again a few inches, Sam slipped one of the pillows under it. A touch to his forehead followed, and he left his hand there for a long time. Eventually, the chemicals soothed and calmed him, and he relaxed.

“Better?” Sam asked.

High as a kite already, he gave a big grin, “Dude, I was better when you walked in the door!”

“Yeah, because I brought the pills!”

“What? Hey. Hey now, that’s no fair.” He grabbed his shirt with the unbroken wrist, and pulled him in for a real kiss. “You’re sexy, dude. Like ‘How’d you manage to pull that off?’ attractive. It’s ridiculous. Of course I feel better! You don’t even know. Dude. Have you even looked at you lately? You always freakin’ make me feel like this. Every time, man.”

As intoxicated as Dean was, Sam should probably have taken whatever he said with a grain of salt, but, for this one, he was willing to just accept the praise. He needed it after this day. It wasn’t really that far off from what Dean actually thought, if not dead-on, but getting him to say it that frankly? Not very easy. As the drugged out hunter drifted off, Sam caressed him behind his ear.

He hated seeing him hurt, even with wounds like this that would eventually heal. And that was a big reason why he couldn’t tell him about Castiel’s visit. It would just rip that gash open once more, pour salt in it, and add new ones along the way. Cas’d betrayed and abandoned Dean while Sam watched, and he wasn’t going to let him back into Dean’s life, only to do it again.

And he worried that Dean might eventually take Cas back, even if he was as angry as Sam was or more. Seeing that blue-eyed, morose little angel—throw in an apology or two and some kind words about missing him—it could work like a charm, couldn’t it?

Sam refused to let that happen. Because it wouldn’t end well, and because he shouldn’t have to share. The natural order of things dictated that. Their situation, their whole lives—it was all in preparation for this, for them being together. In Sam’s heart, he knew, he just knew, that if Dean never saw Castiel again, he would spend the rest of his life—eternity—utterly happy with Sam.

He wanted that so badly. He ached for it. If by some miracle they got past the point where their bodies could take any more hunting, or they just decided to retire, they could settle down somewhere beautiful. His head filled with the possibilities. He didn’t think Dean would ever go for the boring and simple life but maybe they could travel, just to travel. See the world. Escape. And in between sightseeing, they could certainly find other activities to keep boredom at bay.

Castiel stood in the way of that. Or, at least he did until Sam sent him away again. He hoped that would be it, and they could go back to building their life together. He wanted nothing else.


	26. Only the Good Die Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

He stared down the room’s occupants. Seven low-level demons whose poker game had been rudely interrupted by his entrance. They had enough idea of what he was to be afraid, but no clear understanding of his purpose there. So, they stood warily at the far end of the room, the casino-quality card table being the only thing that stood between them.

What he should have done was kill them. But what he did was ask to see their boss.

“Crowley’s dead,” said the bravest one. “A bit of a shakeup in Hell, I’m afraid. There’s no one to see.”

Castiel lifted his arm, and with it the demon in question stumbled toward him. “You know that’s not true. I can hear you think it. You’re protecting him,” he growled. “Tell him I’m here.”

The demon spit in his direction. “And who’s that?”

“Tell him an angel’s here!” he squeeze his hand into a fist, and the demon clutched at its throat, gagging and choking.

“You could’ve just called like a civilized person.” The voice was unmistakable. “Cut out the middle man. Save time.” When he stepped into view, his eyes walked all over Cas’s form—both of them. “Well, will you look at that. Cassie boy’s got his wings back. What are you gonna do with all that power, love? What could you do with it, I wonder.”

Cas snorted. “You like hearing yourself talk.”

He smiled. Turning to the other demons, “Do you mind? A little privacy?”

“I heard rumors you had a thing for angels,” the defiant one muttered, headed for the door. “Some King of Hell!”

King—of Hell? It took a lot to surprise Castiel, but that did. Crowley was the boss of crossroads demons, not _all_ demons. How had he pulled that off? Gabriel killed Anna, surely before she fulfilled all of her obligations to destroy Crowley’s enemies. But maybe a little help was all he needed to get things rolling.

“You watch your tongue with me, boy!” he thundered.

“What a stupid thing to say,” Cas added. “Lucifer is an angel.”

Crowley tilted his head. “Bye now.” He waved as the others left the room. Once they were gone, “I can fight my own battles, thank you. I don’t need your help.”

“Then I’m wasting my time?”

“How do you figure?”

Cas stepped toward him and made eye contact. “You know why I’m here. If you don’t need my help, you’re not looking for a partnership.”

“Right,” he licked his lips. “Forgive me, sweetie. It’s been a long day. How have you been? I take it things didn’t quite work out with the Winchesters, did it? You got all that gorgeous power back, and they couldn’t keep you under their thumbs anymore. So, what, they tossed you aside? Like trash. But it’s their loss.”

“Your gain.”

Crowley approached, reached out for him, and brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. “Exactly. What did I say? I knew you’d come back.” When the angel didn’t reply, “It’s good to see you, Castiel. Free and in one piece.”

“Likewise.”

“Oh, really? You’re just delighted to see me, are you? I don’t believe you. Prove it.”

Cas gripped him forcefully by the collar of his pressed black shirt. Twisting the fabric in his fist, “You doubt my sincerity? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I doubt your resolve. And you’re wrinkling my shirt!”

He pulled the demon closer and stopped less than an inch from their lips touching. “Make an offer.”

“Rule with me,” he returned immediately. Both of his hands found their way to Cas’s chest. They moved slowly down his rib cage and back up again. Leaning in a little more, his tongue extended and met the bottom edge of Cas’s lower lip. He slid it across the upper one before bringing it back into his own mouth. “All of Hell. Shared. Controlled. By us. The two of us. All of these miserable peons will bow to you, sweetheart, as they do to me. And you’ll have everything you could ever want. I’ll make sure of it.” He moved to the angel’s neck, and with one hand near Cas’s ear, he pressed his tongue into his skin.

Castiel closed his eyes. “You like the power I could wield on your behalf.”

He laughed. “I like a lot of things about you, angel. And I think we could have a lot of fun. Together. I won’t disappoint, and there’s no expiration date on our arrangement. I promise.” When Cas still didn’t give in, “And you can walk away anytime you like. But I know you won’t. So it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Cas pulled him away from his neck. “I agree.” He plunged forward, kissing him passionately. The demon reacted accordingly and pushed against him. He clutched at Cas’s back with fingers curved like claws.

Through layers of cloth, he could feel Crowley press into his thigh. It was a crude and unskilled attempt at arousing him, but it wasn’t entirely unsuccessful. The angel held a sort of fondness for the physical. Sentimental attachment to the Winchesters aside, his vessel enjoyed most interactions of this type with other males, not only emotionally but chemically. It had been crafted that way. Whether Crowley knew that or not was irrelevant. And the demon’s host body was not too abrasive on his senses to work. If he pressed and touched the right places, a reaction was inevitable.

He allowed himself to like it. Cas could not return to Heaven, and his former love interests wouldn’t see him, so what other option did he have? If he wanted companionship and power and enjoyment, Crowley was offering it quite enthusiastically.

The demon pushed him up against the back wall and shoved his hand down into Cas’s pants. The deal didn’t require any kissing at all, as no spell was actually being done. Cas simply had to go with Crowley willingly, and presumably, they would proceed from there. But it was obvious that the demon wanted him for this purpose as much for his power. That fact had not gone unnoticed in their past conversations, where he’d pursued him adamantly. It was an unspoken part of the agreement, and Castiel perfectly understood the implications. Crowley wanted a consort, and he would get one.

“Oh, that’s it. I’m going to throw up. Right here. All over the damn floor! You’ve got to be kidding me, Cas!”

Balthazar. He’d long since found his way back to his preferred vessel, a European man whose tendency toward sarcasm and dark humor more closely mirrored Bal’s true personality than the poor woman he’d purloined during the war.

He pried the demon off of him enough to respond. “Leave,” he commanded the other angel.

“Sorry, old friend, I don’t think I can do that.” Bal raised both arms and moved them quickly to his right.

Swearing, Crowley was tossed to the other side of the room like a doll. He landed in a heap in the corner, hardly in danger but not unscathed, either. “Jealous much?” he coughed.

“Balthazar! This doesn’t concern you. Leave now,” Cas demanded.

But Bal simply shook his head. With his full power restored, and Castiel’s own smiting ability still irreparably damaged from his self-surgery, the two were now about even in terms of strength. Neither wielded Yemaya’s energy any longer, though Bal hung on to several of the Divine weapons, and their training was about the same.

Bal did not fear him. He had no reason to. “This is low, Cas, even for you. And it’s just plain disgusting! A demon? Really?! You want to put your cock in something, why not a vampire or a Labrador? Or the ghost of fucking Oscar Wilde? Anything but this pudgy little bottle of smog! You don’t have to keep kosher, but damnit, this is wrong on every level I can think of.”

“I’ve already made my decision.”

“I bet you did,” Bal was unfazed. When Crowley tried to stand up, a flick of the newcomer’s wrist threw him back down. “And you’re a fucking moron for it.”

Castiel sneered at him. “You having a moral outrage would be laughable if it were true. Explain how I do not benefit profoundly from this deal.”

“You mean other than that he can’t be trusted? Have you lost it? You’re trading in the real affections of those melodramatic, incestuous hunters for a monster incapable of anything but the very basest of animal desires. You had grade A steak, and you’re giving it up for low-quality take away!”

“Fuck off, will you?” came from the demon. He sat with annoyance in the corner, no doubt already fantasizing of creative ways to dispose of the interloper.

“I’ve spoken to Sam Winchester. They don’t want an angel when they can have each other. They’re soulmates. What would you have me do?”

Balthazar rubbed his temples with both hands. “You stupid fucking idiot! It’s not that you’re an angel, Cas. It’s that you were a dick. You kicked them to the curb when I gave your power back. And they’re right pissed about it I’m sure. You don’t fix that shit over night, do you? No, you sure as fuck don’t. Did you even talk to Dean? You know, the girly one that’s in love with you? Fucking hell, you didn’t, did you?”

“He doesn’t want to see me. I respect his wishes as a courtesy.”

“My God! Do you hear yourself? You’re being a coward, Castiel. And so incredibly whiny.” Walking up to Cas, he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re telling me that you want to run off with that,” he gestured toward Crowley, “without even seeing if your lover boy will give you the time of day?”

He looked over at the demon, who gave him a defiant gaze. “Even if he takes you back now, love, you’ll still end up alone,” Crowley warned.

“Could you really shack up with this ugly fucker without knowing?” was Bal’s retort.

Castiel thought about it for a long time. Ultimately, “No.”

“No?!” Crowley struck the wall with his fist. “You can’t be ser—” but he stopped short. Both angels were gone, and he had no one to argue with but himself.

***

Sam hit the ground with a grunt. Coughing, “You’re heavy!”

But he really didn’t mind. Any affection Dean wanted to show in public—which included tackling Sam on a grassy hill outside of an old coal mine—was something he welcomed.

The hunt had been a success. A mutated creature was killing tourists, and the Winchesters ganked it. They even saved a pack of college students who snuck onto the premises for the purposes of “urban exploration.” Neither of the hunters fully understood why people would want to hang out in abandoned places just to do it, considering how dangerous and monster-prone such locations tended to be. But they made a hobby out of killing creatures, so they couldn’t really talk.

After destroying the half-blind, horse-like creature, they guided the civilians out through an elevator shaft, and warned them that there really were several reasons to be afraid of the dark.

Dean didn’t wait until they were alone. With his shotgun still in hand—the good one without the cast—he jumped on Sam, and the momentum brought them both to the ground. Sam laughed as Dean kissed him dramatically. He caressed Sam’s face and doing so left a smudge of black coal dust on his cheek. “How much trouble do you think we’d get in if I did you right here?” Dean grinned viciously as Sam flashed an expression of alarm. His fingers traced their way over his torso, examining every muscle.

Blushing, “We could get arrested!”

“I dunno. Might be worth it.” Dean kissed him deeply. “Definitely worth it.”

“I think you just want them to cuff you,” Sam accused, kissing him back. “You know, we could just buy some, Dean. Cheaper than the legal fees.”

He chuckled. Brushing Sam’s hair out of the way, he studied him for a long time. The younger hunter loved—absolutely loved—every second of his staring. He lay there radiantly, a sweet smile frozen on his face. Afternoon light glinted in his eyes as he stared up at him.

Dean could hardly stand it. He was perfect. Astoundingly, wonderfully perfect. “Cheaper or not, I ain’t letting you up, dork.”

“Oh, yeah? Who says I wanna get up? You’re comfy.” He kissed him once more, holding onto his jacket for leverage.

Shutting his eyes, Dean lost himself. He didn’t open them again until he heard Sam laugh. “What?”

“Nothing!”

“No, what? What is it?”

“It’s just,” he bit into his own lip, “you get this face. Usually when you’re looking at me. Just like the most serene, zen thing ever.”

He blinked. Lifting himself up a little, “You think I look funny, don’t you?”

But Sam shook his head. “No. It’s incredible. You look incredible. Every time you get like that, I know it’s because of me, and, well, it’s awesome, Dean. I love it. I love seeing you happy. I’m serious.” He gave another one of those smiles, and Dean felt like he could gawk at him forever. “I love this look almost as much as the faces you make when you’re about ready to—”

“Hey!” he cut him off. “Shut up!”

“But it’s sexy!” Lowering his voice, “You’re just really sexy.”

“You think so?”

He laced his fingers behind Dean’s neck. “Oh God, yes.” For how much Dean spent time looking at him, he did it just as often, though he wasn’t always as obvious about it. Old habit from the days when he didn’t want to get caught. But he did look. Now, more than ever. It was difficult not to.

Sam listed off the reasons in his head—starting with those lips of his, the angles and dips in his back, how tight the muscles in his legs felt when they—

“Umm, uh, sorry to bother you—uh,” came a voice from the bottom of the hill.

Dean’s eyes widened as he realized they had a fairly sizable audience, that their entire interaction had been only a few yards away from nearly a dozen twenty-somethings, who very likely saw everything. Sam watched him run through it. Fear, indecision—more fear. But it didn’t last, at least not on the outside. He patted Sam’s shoulder reassuringly, dismounted him, and stood. “Problem?”

“Uh, no,” said one of the smaller males in the group. “Well, maybe. Our friends. Two of our friends. They died down there. They’re gone. And-uh, none of us knows what to do.”

“Grieve. Try to heal. Be ridiculously happy you’re alive, and you made it. Not much else you can do.”

He’d given that speech a hundred times at least. Maybe a thousand. Sam sat up in the grass and glanced down at the group, huddled together. Most of them looked all right, with one or two a little too quiet. They’d probably have nightmares, he guessed.

Dean offered his good hand and helped Sam to his feet. He smoothed down his unruly hair and picked a leaf out of it. His thumb lingered next to Sam’s nose for a few seconds—a very deliberate act. Further proof that, even with spectators, he intended to follow through with his promise to be more open with Sam in public.

The kid fidgeted in place. “No, I know that. We know that. But, there’s gonna be questions. Cops. I mean, they had parents, families. We don’t even have their bodies. What do we say? They got eaten? I don’t think we can say they got eaten.”

“When you call them, you say you don’t know what happened,” Sam supplied. “You heard a noise. Sounded like creaking. You thought the mine was going to collapse. You ran. When you got out, they weren’t with you. You were afraid to go back in. They’ll search the mine, all the parts they can get to, and come up empty. And that, that’ll be it.”

“Think you can handle that?” Dean asked skeptically.

When the group indicated that they could, the hunters left them and headed toward the car. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist as they walked. And he tried to walk as slowly as possible to savor it.


	27. Radar Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Dean was a late riser most mornings. The heavy workload and scrape ups associated with it took a toll on him he’d never admit to. Though he drank a lot less than he once did, pardoning hitting the bottle fairly hard right after Cas left, he still downed a few beers every night. It was whiskey if they had a close call, especially if Sam was injured. Both the wear and tear and the booze conspired to keep him in bed until at least eleven, if not well into the afternoon.

But Sam didn’t have that problem. In fact, he found it difficult to sleep most nights, even if he was exhausted. He slept a whole lot better with Dean there, of course, and he loved falling asleep with him every night. But the constant danger was stressful, and he seemed to wake early regardless of his emotional state.

So, he went for a walk or jog, surfed the internet, or, like today, ended up sipping coffee in a diner down the street. Nearby, a sizable piece of apple pie sat in a plastic container, which was wrapped in a flimsy plastic bag. No reason he couldn’t bring back Dean’s favorite dessert item. Seeing his face light up would probably make the morning.

As he daydreamed about the day ahead of them, a figure slid onto the stool next to him and ordered soda in a regrettably familiar voice.

Sam gripped the mug with both hands. The muscles in his back and shoulders locked up. “Didn’t get the picture last time?” he kept his voice quiet, but it was anything but calm.

“I wanted to bring you something,” Castiel replied, setting a long paper bag on the counter in front of them. “You’ll need that.”

Humoring him, Sam picked it up and looked inside. It was one of the silver-clad swords angels used. “More of your friends paying us a visit or what? I really don’t want your help or anything from you, Cas. I just want you to leave.”  He pushed it toward him.

But Castiel slid the weapon right back. “I’m going to see Dean very soon. He’s owed an apology, which I intend to give him. If you plan to stop me, this is your only way.” Given Sam’s reaction the last time Cas undervalued his own life, the angel knew this approach would have a profound effect.

Sam swiveled in his seat, facing him. “What the hell? Why would you—? Okay,” he tried to calm down. “First off, are you suicidal? Or do you just want me to try and kill you, so you can take me out? Why are you giving me this? I don’t want it. Please, just stay away from us.”

“It may please you to hear that I haven’t done well,” he explained with a pensive expression, “since regaining my power. The energy from Yemaya faded once she no longer had use for me. I’m forbidden to enter the Kingdom. No angel will associate with me, save for Balthazar, and no other creature worth mentioning, either. I am alone, Sam Winchester. And I will be for the rest of eternity unless I can make amends. Or unless I am killed. I’ll accept either one.”

“So, if I don’t let you try and see Dean again—and I assume try and have him again,” the thought of sharing Dean once more sent a wave of nausea through him, “then you want me to kill you?”

He gave a single nod. “That was _your_ ultimatum.”

Sam finished his coffee in one gulp and motioned for another. Waiting until after a server refilled it and walked away, “But you’re not giving me a choice. You’re not even sorry as far as I can tell. All I’m hearing is that you’re what? You’re lonely? Well, tough shit. That’s your own fault. And you don’t even seem to care that you fucked up or understand how badly you hurt us. I couldn’t let you back into Dean’s life. I just, well, I love him too much for that. But yeah, he’s owed an apology. A real one. You know, one where you actually mean what you’re saying.”

“You misunderstand me,” he seemed to have difficulty speaking. “I made a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes. I am aware of the pain this has caused in you both. You may not believe me, but it hurts me to see what I have done, and to know that I did it. I’m alone entirely because of what I’ve done. I realize this.”

“But now you want to come back. And what happens if Dean accepts your apology? I go back to sharing him with you? Getting him half the time? Losing everything we’ve built over the last few months?! No. I can’t. What could I possibly have to gain by doing that? Is there anything in it for me? No. No, there isn’t. You had your chance, Castiel, and that’s a whole lot more than you deserved.”

The angel furrowed his brow. “No, I agree. I don’t believe that would work. Your forgiveness means as much to me as his, and so does your affection. I didn’t know it before, but I feel it now. I miss you both. The times I’ve been truly happy were with Dean—but also with you, Sam. I want to return to your life, as well. It would mean everything to me if you could forgive me, eventually. I know I haven’t earned it.”

Wait, was he saying—?

“I have strong feelings for you, Sam. I believe I’m in love with you.”

He heard the words but couldn’t believe they’d been uttered.

“I had hoped to tell you when we awoke together, but everything happened much differently. Much worse. I regret it every day that I didn’t tell you. That, amongst more regrets than I can count.”

“What am I supposed to say to that, Cas? I don’t even know you. You’re not the same person. Everything about you is different.” The way he talked, moved. He ordered a drink but didn’t touch it. He spoke with barely an expression, and he hardly seemed to breathe. “I don’t know who you are, what you are.”

“I know,” he nodded a second time. “I may never be like that again, Sam, though I’ll have a possible way to come close, soon. But as I am now, I can promise I am not so heartless as you saw me when I wielded the extra energy. I wasn’t like that before I met you, and I’m not today.”

Sam shook his head. “A promise from you honestly doesn’t mean anything to me.”

He stepped down from his stool in one fluid, soundless motion. “No, I don’t expect it would.” He stared out one of the diner’s front windows. Morning light filtered through and lit up the edges of his clothes and face. “May I see you again?” his question held the highest level of emotion that Sam had heard in the entire conversation.

At least he was asking this time. “Why?”

“If it’s possible, I would like to earn your forgiveness. And I would very much like to be with you, even just to talk. About whatever you like, for as long as you dictate.”

“But what about Dean? Are you gonna try to see him?”

“Not without your permission, if you agree.”

Sam didn’t answer for a long time. He didn’t really want to see Cas again, but he didn’t want to come to blows with him over Dean, either. And then there was the matter of the angel supposedly being in love with him, which he didn’t know how to take. It seemed unlikely that the creature in front of him was even capable of love in any manner that resembled what Sam knew of the emotion, though Castiel claimed to feel it, anyway. So, he didn’t know if he could believe the statement.

The worst part was that the Cas he had known and liked and trusted—may have actually loved him, in a very real and human way. But as a true slap to the face, Sam never got to know it or experience it. If the angel was telling the truth, it had been there and slipped through Sam’s fingers with him being none the wiser. He couldn’t imagine he’d get a second chance at having what was lost.

But if it meant he could keep the bastard away from Dean, and thus keep Dean to himself, he knew what he had to do. “Okay, yeah. I guess.”

Castiel smiled, but it wasn’t the brilliant sort of smile he’d seen on rare occasions with the old Cas. Still, it was better than a dead mask. “You won’t regret this decision. Thank you, Sam.” He took a few more moments to study the hunter before walking out the door. He made his true departure outside where there were no witnesses.

***

The trendy salad place was an ideal meeting location. The Winchesters rarely ended up in big cities, and especially not on the east coast, but a vampire outbreak in the mid-Atlantic dictated a change in their normal routine. It was almost noon, but Dean, like usual, still slept. And even if he were awake, he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, where chopped greenery and weird dressings reigned supreme, and as much fruit was on the menu as vegetables. Nevermind that they could serve you tofu in three different ways, and everything was free-range, organic, vegan, carbon neutral, or all of the above—concepts Dean neither cared about nor really understood.

So, it provided the perfect cover should Dean wake up and wonder where his little brother was.

Castiel watched with curiosity as Sam picked through his early lunch, a concoction that included dried cranberries, goat cheese, walnuts, and some sort of light vinegary dressing. He seemed to enjoy it, but wasn’t hungry. Cas assumed correctly that he was the cause of the hunter’s loss of appetite. It was the sixth such meeting, and on the occasions where food was involved, Sam barely ate anything.

“You don’t need to eat or drink at all now, do you?” Sam questioned, checking his phone for the time. He’d noticed Cas’s staring.

The intuitive question caught Cas off guard. “No.” He kept his expression as serene as possible, and tried to avoid saying anything that might upset him or provoke anger. Their last conversation, a mere two days ago, had come and gone with no conflict at all, the first to go so well. Though Sam seemed more worn-out and irritated than before, he hoped there could be a repeat. “Though, I can if you’d like me to. And all angels very much enjoy sugar. It’s kind of like caffeine for us.”

“Like toddlers,” he quipped.

Cas gave a small chuckle. “It’s one of the few human foods that has any real affect on us. It would take most of a liquor store for me to get drunk, for instance. Though, I’m told it’s possible.”

“I’d love to see a full angel drunk, actually.” He started eating at a more reasonable pace, and Cas offered up a decent-sized smile as a reward. Anything he could do to get Sam to relax around him was worth it. Every little victory made him happy and hopeful.

“Probably a lot more fun at parties,” Cas added. “And in general.”

Sam opened a bottle of water and took a sip before returning to his meal. “You don’t think other angels are fun? They’re your kind, your family.”

“We’re all as different as we are the same, and everyone fulfills an assigned role. Unless you rebel, whereupon you are cast out or killed, or something happens to the angel above you, that’s the only role you ever get. They were my comrades when I performed my role. When that ended, all ties were cut.”

“You really are alone.”

But Castiel shrugged. “Among them, I still would be, Sam. I don’t have much in common with them any longer. Their wants and desires are not mine. They wish only to be loyal, to be good at their jobs, and to be seen as valuable by their superiors. That’s not what I want, not even after being denied it. And still not after returning to the way I was made. I’m programmed to crave those things, yet I don’t. It’s woven into every piece of me, but it doesn’t matter.”

With another bite, Sam let the tan plastic fork linger near his mouth. “Did we do that? You being with us?”

“Yes, and living as a human, or thinking I was, and what it took to stay when it became clear I wasn’t.” He picked up a bottle of hot sauce from a cardboard holster at the center of the table and rolled it in the palms of his hands. “Now, I think about you and Dean, and about living here—about TV and sleep and riding around in that car with you. And a lot of the time, my part isn’t important. I miss watching what you and Dean have. It’s incredible, Sam, the way you two interact with each other.”

“We’re so much better now,” he pointed out. Minus lying about having lunch with Dean’s ex. That part wasn’t very good. It felt so much like cheating—it made him feel sick.

Cas put the bottle down. “Your bond is a lot stronger.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I can sense it, now, when not even Gabriel once could without investigating closely. And it’s not my increased power. With all the work you and him have put in, you’ve taken the connection and strengthened it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re beginning to share emotions or get an idea of what the other is thinking when you’re very close to each other.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Cas leaned forward across the table. “What it amounts to is a bond that can’t be broken or even weakened by anyone. It doesn’t work backwards. It doesn’t thin out. You’ve built on the work of God. It’s insured. It’s stronger than anything.”

Sam raised both eyebrows. It was obvious to him what Castiel was saying: the angel couldn’t damage the bond even if he wanted to. But Sam was wary of anything that came out of Cas’s mouth. If he wasn’t lying directly—which he at least didn’t seem to be—then he could simply not understand the finer points of being human. What old Cas knew didn’t necessarily transfer over now. While his lunch partner only saw the very real connection, Sam didn’t think he understood that their relationship could still suffer. The things they had to work for—being comfortable around each other, talking, getting romantic—those weren’t a given. These things may have helped strengthen the connection, but the connection didn’t produce them.

“You might find this strange,” Cas continued, “but now that I can sense it, it feels like home. I think it’s because I have never seen more direct evidence of God’s work. It’s untampered with, uncorrupted. It’s beautiful.”

“You don’t think it might be because you lived with us for a year?” More spite crept into his voice than he meant to allow.

He looked genuinely surprised—and embarrassed—before his expression turned sympathetic. “Honestly, no. But it’s because the type of welcome you gave me, and the experience I had with you both—that was a thousand times better than this, than some mild association with my Father.” Though just sitting with one half of the duo brought so much of it back, even without reciprocation or acceptance.

Sam closed the empty, recycled paper container, set his fork on top, and leaned back in his chair. The plastic creaked under his weight. “Then why give it up?”

“I didn’t think. I only reacted. I’m very sorry, Sam.” He wanted to reach across the table in his direction, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t imagine Sam would appreciate that. Instead, he rested his arms on the table and interlocked his fingers. Keeping his eyes fixed on the man, “I know I’m not what you want. I’m not who you remember. But I want to be that again. I have a way to go back, to get very close.”

“So, why haven’t you done it already?”

He averted his glance. “I would need to know—there’s no point if Dean doesn’t want to see me.” And if his soulmate only barely tolerated him. “I have to talk to him, Sam! If I do it, I can’t go back. There’s no putting me back together. It’s permanent.”

“Not happening.”

“Can you just—” He felt emotion scratch at the edge of him, crossing the boundary between the shell he inhabited and himself. “Ask him if he wants to see me? Please, Sam.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Then let him say it. And I won’t ask again.”

Sam snorted. He would rather walk out into oncoming traffic than have such a conversation with Dean. But in that instant, he couldn’t think of a good retort except that he didn’t want to. He punted, “He’s gonna hit you.”

“I hope not,” Cas replied right away. Then, to lighten the mood a little, “He could break his other hand.” Sam had filled him in on the injury two meetings ago. Though Cas could easily fix it for them, the younger Winchester had been adamant against it. He didn’t want the angel anywhere near his soulmate, and that fact trumped a quick heal for Dean’s wrist.

The hunter laughed in front of Cas for the first time since they started meeting again. It was a weak laugh, brought on in part from discomfort, but it was still a laugh. Cas tried to memorize every line in his face, just in case it was the last time he would get the chance.

“Fine, but it really is going to go badly. I hope you’re ready for that. If you flake out, I mean at all, it’s done.”

“Understood.”


	28. Reconsider Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Another big moan emanated from the pillow. Sam pushed deeper, digging sharply into him. “Ahh, fuck!” Dean yelped. The younger hunter moved a little, and Dean’s heavy breathing lost some of the hiss of pain. He knew he’d found the right spot.

When Dean tried to get up a little, Sam pushed him back down to the mattress. “Hey, I’m not done, yet.”

“You’re killing me here!”

“Oh, quit being a baby.” He pushed hard, and Dean groaned loudly. “I’ve popped your shoulder back in half a dozen times. You can take this. And I’m never gonna get the knots out if you keep squirming.” Perched on top of him, Sam worked his palms into Dean’s back, seeking out the tight and painful parts of his muscles in an attempt to give him some much-needed relief. Half of them were completely locked up when he first started. It was like trying to massage granite.

But as Dean’s skin grew red and hot to the touch, he thought it best to put the brakes on their session. They’d been at it for almost two hours now, and Sam knew he’d never get all the knots in one go. Too much swelling. And even though it was necessary so that Dean could actually move his neck, Sam never liked seeing him in pain.

He dismounted, collapsing at Dean’s side. Rubbing sore joints, “You’re gonna need a couple more rounds, but it should start to feel better in a few days.”

“Oh, joy.” He reached over and lethargically touched Sam’s cheek.

Sam kissed him nice and slow. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You’re a sadist, and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” God, it felt good to say that. By now, they said it every day, often more than once. But every time it sent a pang through him—something between surprise and utter exhilaration. “And you’re a masochist, so quit complaining. You’re pretty much addicted to pain.”

Dean rolled onto his side. Rubbing the side of Sam’s face with his thumb, he moved in close. “No, it just happens a lot. But when you’re not making it worse, you’re pretty good at making it better. That or you’re just really good at using your hands. Like magic hands. You know, from that Heart song.”

So he’d been told. Not only Dean appreciated them. The old Cas had spent a considerable amount of time praising Sam’s finer motor skills. Now that he had the angel on his mind, he decided to go for it. He’d already stalled three whole days. Licking his lips, “Can I ask you something?”

Sliding the fingers of his good hand into Sam’s front jeans pocket, Dean closed his eyes. “Tell me it’s got something to do with taking these off.”

“No, uh, maybe a little later.” He gulped. “Umm, what would you do if—if Castiel came back?”

His green eyes shot open abruptly, and his whole body tensed up. “Whoa, Sammy,” he eventually managed. “That’s a really serious question.” One he didn’t want to answer. He propped himself up with one elbow. “Nothing. Well, I mean, I’d probably slug him. But, man, you don’t gotta worry about that. Cas ain’t coming back, and you’re stuck with me.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean, he’s already back.”

“What?!”

Sam felt a chill course through him. “He showed up out of the blue. I told him if he went near you, I’d kill him.” His heart ran a marathon inside his ribcage.

Dean rubbed his forehead as a headache set in. “Then?”

“He left—and came back again. He said I would have to kill him to stop him from seeing you, and he gave me his fucking sword to do it with. And then we reached an agreement. If I agreed to talk to him, he wouldn’t bother you. So, I said yes.”

“You’ve been hanging out with my ex for what? Days? Weeks?” Dean’s voice was calm, but he couldn’t fool Sam. He was pissed.

He had every right to be. “About half a dozen times, across a month if you don’t count the first one. That was back when you broke your wrist.”

“Fucking hell, Sammy! Shit,” he covered his face with his hands in frustration. “God damnit, dude, why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

“For the same reason I didn’t want him to see you. He hurt you. Just talking or thinking about him hurts you. I don’t wanna see that again. I don’t wanna see you in pain, Dean. Ever. I can’t tell you how angry I am about what he did. A thousand times angrier than you are at me right now. I had to watch him just leave you there. I heard everything he said. I couldn’t let history repeat itself.” He rested one hand on Dean’s, and to his relief, he didn’t pull it away.

“You shouldn’t have kept this from me, Sam,” he said so low it was almost a whisper. “We shouldn’t keep shit from each other, important or not.”

“I know, I know. You’re right. I should’ve told you. Dean, I’m sorry.”

He expected his soulmate to withdraw from him, take off, drink, or employ some other coping mechanism that didn’t involve actually processing the information. That’s what he usually did. But not this time. Instead, he wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close. Kissing the top of his head, “It’s okay, Sammy.” After a long silence, “What changed your mind?”

“Well, for one, he says he’s in love with me. Like alongside you.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, that was my reaction. I don’t know how to feel about it. Supposedly, he loves both of us. Says he has been for awhile.”

Dean grimaced, as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Fuck, it doesn’t even matter. I don’t think he knows what the hell that means. If he does, he doesn’t know that it means you have to actually care about the people you say you love.”

Sam didn’t expect that response, though it gave him comfort to know that Dean was still angry. “He also says he has a way to go back to what he was like before, but he won’t do it unless—unless you say you want him to.” He held onto Dean at his waist. “He begged me to ask you if you would see him.”

“If I say no?”

“He goes away, maybe for good.” Hopefully for good?

“What do you want me to do?” The question was sincere. “What do you want, Sammy? Say no, right? I can do that, if you want me to. I can tough it out.”

Sam shook his head. “You’d tell him to get lost if I asked you to?”

“Well, yeah. I’d do anything for you, Sam. You know that.” He leaned in and pressed his nose into Sam’s jaw bone.

“I know, but—” He didn’t want to say it. It was so tempting not to. He could say that he wanted Castiel to stay out of the picture, and Dean was ready to go along with it. But the look on his face told a different story. Angry and hurt as he was, he still wanted to see Cas, again. He needed the closure and the apology, at the very least. And maybe he missed the angel, too. “I’m not gonna do that to you, Dean,” Sam said eventually. “If you wanna talk to him, I’ll support you, and I’ll be here. I’m always gonna be here. Just do what feels right.”

Dean took a long time to respond. “I’d never let it go if I just told him to fuck off,” he sighed, “without getting a damn explanation. I guess I got to. So, uh, tell him yes.”

Damnit. “Okay, Dean. I will.”

***

He waited until Dean woke up the next morning and jumped in the shower before making the inter-dimensional phone call. Standing just outside their motel room door, “Castiel?” he spoke into the empty parking lot. “Hey, Castiel. Cas! Hey, man, he said yes. He says he’ll see you.” When nothing happened, “Oh, c’mon. This is what you want. The least you could do is show up. Castiel!”

“I’m here,” came from behind him and to his right.

“What took you so long?”

Cas strode into view, and looked up at him with round eyes. He wore the trench coat Sam had bought for him when they first met. It still had a gash in the sleeve from battle, sewed together hastily with dark green thread. “I had to be certain I will have assistance if you both want me to return to the way I was. I can’t do it on my own.”

“You think he’ll just take you back,” he accused unceremoniously. It was a hunch—but also a fear of Sam’s—that it might actually happen, that Dean might just take one look at the doe-eyed little angel and fall for him all over again.

Castiel shook his head, “No. But I have hope he someday might. That you might, too.” He studied Sam’s face closely. “I’ll show you. What I would do to have you, to be in your life once more. And it will benefit everyone.”

“You’re gonna cut yourself up again, aren’t you?” Sam surmised. It was the only avenue he could think of. As much as he hated what Cas had become, and as much as he didn’t want him near Dean, something about the idea of him hacking off his wings and God knows what else again didn’t exactly elicit a good feeling.

“Let’s go see Dean.”

Sam opened the door, and they both walked inside.

Dean heard two people enter, even with the water running. His chest felt tight. He peeked his head out, a toothbrush dangling from his mouth. To his horror, the creature that had once been his first real love sat on the edge of the room’s only bed. His arms hung limp in his lap, and his face was somber. Dean retreated before his ex could see him. Spitting into the sink, he rinsed his toothbrush off and dropped it into a small bag where he and Sam kept their toiletries.

He stood still for a few minutes, staring at himself in the mirror. He felt like crap. And he felt vulnerable. He had no idea what he was going to say or do, and though he tried to run through it in his mind, he came up with a drastically different scenario every time. Not all of them involved anger. And that was the worst thing. Sure, he was pissed, but he also kinda missed having him around, talking to him, being with him. Sam, for the most part, filled that void now, and it was more than enough, but they were two very different people. And once, he’d loved them both simultaneously.

But he reminded himself that it was the old Cas—the trimmed down and torn apart angel who’d given up immortality and power to stay with humans, with Dean—that he loved. This creature only looked like him on the outside. It couldn’t be trusted, and it didn’t love Dean.

And old Cas wasn’t a sure bet, either. During their time together, he lied. A lot. If Cas had a propensity to mislead, and to leave, and to betray, then he’d do it again, wouldn’t he? So what if he also had a heart the size of Minnesota? When it came down to it, he was a liability.

With a bit of stretching, Dean pulled on a black t-shirt with a faded band logo across the chest. He swallowed his nervousness, wiped his hands on his jeans, and joined the others.

Castiel stood up immediately. Dean only made it a few steps into the room before his legs tightened up and he felt like he was walking through wet concrete. But it made no difference. Cas crossed the distance and moved in too close for comfort. In his face, he saw a flash of the old Cas for only an instant—a longing that shadowed the lines on his lips. But it wasn’t him that stared back at Dean. It was most certainly a creature, and it looked at him with more curiosity and desire than concern and remorse.

But when he opened his mouth, the words were somewhere in the gray area. “I should have returned sooner.”

Behind them, Sam bit down on his tongue. If he loved Dean, the angel shouldn’t have left at all, he thought with the volume turned all the way up. Regardless, he kept his opinions to himself. At least for now. If Dean needed his help, he would never show it, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate any sort of intervention. He could take care of himself. Though Sam wasn’t as certain.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean tried to keep as calm as possible. He could feel pain and heartache bubble up like stomach acid and eat away at the cold wall he put up to protect himself.

“It does. I left you. I did not help you when I should have. I said things I don’t feel.”

Dean snorted. “You screwed up.” His breath left him in sharp bursts.

“Yes. I regret all of it. Everything I did to wrong you.”

“Damnit, Cas,” was all he could call up for a response. It didn’t sound like _his_ Cas. The words did, but not the delivery. Where was the heart? The whole thing sounded disconnected. Rehearsed. But it was still an apology, and it did seem like he meant it.

“Do you hate me for it? For what I did? I understand if you do.”

It was too calm, too simple. But he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t care about the answer, Dean told himself. Not that he had a good one prepared. Better cut the chase. “I can’t hate something I don’t know, and I don’t know who the hell I’m talking to.”

“I’m not who you remember,” Cas said very softly. “I’m closer now to something I imagine you would hunt, with zeal, if you were able.”

Dean could feel himself get pale.

“But I don’t want this.” He motioned toward himself. “I don’t want to be this. I don’t wish to be something worthy of being hunted. You asked me how I could do that to you, and I said I couldn’t. That’s still true, Dean.”

“So? You can’t change what you are.”

“That’s not true. Yes, I can, Dean. I did it once before.”

He blinked. “Gnaw your own wings off and shove them down my throat again? Yeah, no thanks. Sorry, not a huge fan of the headaches.”

“This would be different. More like surgery. Precise. Permanent. No raw edges. And no pain.”

“But you would—” His bottom lip trembled despite all attempts to thwart it. “You would still want me to-uh—to take it back? Like the first time around.” Fill in that giant hole, bring back the warm, comforting feeling the energy’s presence once provided. At the cost of having something foreign and alien inside himself again.

Castiel gave one slow nod. “It wouldn’t hurt you. Nothing like before. And it wouldn’t just be you this time. Part would go to Sam, if you both agreed.”

“What?!” came from across the room. Sam couldn’t help but react. “What the hell? No!” He didn’t even want Cas in their lives, let alone having a piece of the angel inside his body.

“I see no reason why I should not treat you the same,” he spoke over his shoulder. “Give of myself to you, as well.”

Dean took a few steps back, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell would you even give him? I mean, what’a you got left after plucking the feathers?”

He smiled lightly. “Healing. My ability to mend the sick and injured. I would give that. It suits Sam’s nature, his caring. He would use it well. And often.” He turned to face the younger Winchester. “And I would be honored to give it to you, Sam. It’s not a lot, but I would like to. I want to.” Turning back to Dean, “I just need a promise.”

“There’s always a catch.” Dean glared at him.

“If I do this, I won’t be an angel anymore. I’ll be nothing except what you want me to be. As close to human as I can become. And every day on this earth that’s the person you’ll see. Swear to me that will be enough for me to see you again. That you’ll allow me to work for your forgiveness. That you’ll allow me back into your life—into your lives.” He actually looked fearful. “You don’t have to trust me or love me. I haven’t earned that. I just want to see you and talk to you.”

That was the final straw. Dean felt his eyes welling up. He didn’t think he could speak without it being obvious, and anyway, he didn’t know what to say to that. Cas wasn’t even asking for the world or much of anything. He just wanted to be in the same room with them. He was willing to throw away all the power he had, and immortality, too, for a VIP pass to the Winchester show. It was unfathomable—and exactly something the old Cas would do.

Sam recovered more quickly. “Wouldn’t it kill you?” his voice shook a little. “Would you actually survive having two chunks cut away?”

“It’s never been done before.” His glance lingered on Sam. “But I see no reason why I cannot live without it. And I want you to have it. You would be a great healer.”

“What makes you think that?”

The smile grew. “It’s in everything about you,” he said it like it was a given. A matter of fact.

It took a few tries before Dean finally composed himself enough to add to the conversation. “This doesn’t sound like much of a promise. You’d risk your life for almost nothing?”

Perplexed, Cas reached across the space and gently touched his arm with two fingers. “What do you mean? Being near you both is Heaven for me. I destroyed the one pure thing I had—my life with you—and to be offered a chance again would be worth any price. I have no misgivings about this. Give me your word, and I’ll make the transformation immediately.”

Dean looked over at Sam, who after trying and failing to say anything, gave him a quick nod. Turning back, “You have it.” As an afterthought, “But I-uh, I wanna be there. When it happens. You have to bring me with you. Or no deal.”

“Me too,” Sam added meekly.

Cas motioned for Sam to come closer. When he did, the angel gripped him at the shoulder. He made a similar movement for Dean, but the older Winchester shied away. “We can go now,” Cas instructed. “You know how this works. I have to touch you.”

Dean reluctantly took a few steps closer. Cas took hold of him, and in the blink of an eye, they were no longer in the motel room. Instead, it was a darkened bar, clad in brass and wood. Where it had been late morning moments earlier, it was now early evening. They were in a different part of the world.


	29. Long As I Can See the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

The place was empty apart from a bartender, who didn’t seem to notice their arrival. In the center of the room, the tables and chairs had been cleared, pushed up against the walls. “Company?” said a blond man in his mid-forties. He had a loose British accent with a hint of French thrown in, and he looked a bit like a scruffy Gordon Ramsay. “They’re not gonna want to be here for this, Cas.”

“They insisted.”

“Right, well, that’s brilliant. Should fit in well with the rest of the stupidity of this plan.” He took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and set it down on the bar.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked from Sam’s side.

The man laughed. “What, you don’t recognize me?”

“Balthazar,” Sam guessed. “With a new vessel. Only angel who still talks to Cas.”

Dean took a step toward Bal in anger. “You mean the asshole who cut a fucking Grand Canyon in my soul? Oh, you sonuva bitch—”

But before he could get anywhere, Sam stepped in front of him and held him back. He put up his full body as a blockade and took hold of Dean for good measure. “Look, I’m pretty sure this is the only person who can help us, Dean,” he whispered. “If we want the old Cas back, we have to put up with Balthazar. And anyway, he’s a full angel. We don’t have anything that could even scratch him.”

The older hunter relaxed a little, but there was pain in his expression. “There’s a giant hole in me, Sam, and this jackass is responsible,” his voice was barely audible.

“I know,” he kissed him gently, touching his face. “But this is gonna fix it. You won’t have it anymore.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

As they spoke, Castiel thought it best to get things underway. He took off his overcoat and set it down on a bar stool. He took a seat on the floor in the direct center of the room. When Balthazar approached, he lay back and interlocked his fingers over his stomach.

“I hope all of you are ready,” Bal spoke to the whole room. “It’s not going to be pretty.” The brothers turned just enough to watch, but they kept close to each other. Cas’s face showed no sign of fear or any emotion at all. Bal conjured a familiar angel sword out of thin air. Twirling it around, he bent down over Castiel. “I could say it until I wear out this vessel’s jaw muscles, but I’ll ask just one more time. Are you sure about this? If you survive, you’re still going to die eventually. Just like your boyfriends, yeah? But no Heaven for you, mate. Gabriel would never let you in. Just death.”

Cas shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Damn right, I don’t,” he sighed. “What a fucking waste this is.” He raised the sword and move the tip around, his head bobbing as he tried to find a good place to start. “Enjoy mortality.”

Without any additional formalities, he plunged the blade down until it connected with the floor. Cas shrieked in agony. His back arched off the ground, and he started involuntarily kicking at the space around him. A faint spark appeared where the blade had apparently stabbed into Castiel’s wing. But the Winchesters could see nothing else as Balthazar scrapped the blade along ceramic tiling.

The damage was clear, though. The color drained from Cas’s face. Though he attempted to hide as much of his pain from the others, he failed miserably. His screams were mostly unabated. His eyes clenched shut, and he struggled and twisted. The heels of his shoes slapped against the floor. Balthazar held him down at his chest with one hand as he sliced with the other. There were so many layers to get through, and he had to do it perfectly. Clean and straight lines, leaving nothing behind but taking nothing extra.

True surgical precision.

But as the angel kicked and fought and cried, the other two found it increasingly difficult to watch. In fact, Sam couldn’t do it at all. Instead, he kept his focus on Dean, who didn’t look away. But he wasn’t doing well. He didn’t move, didn’t react. He just absorbed all the terribleness and pain, or worse, blocked it out. Sam caressed the back of his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His screams turned to a whimper. Balthazar sat back. He picked up a large ivory chalice engraved with thousands of tiny symbols and seemed to pour something into it. Sam’s hand slid off of Dean as he approached the angel. “Cas, I thought you said there wouldn’t be any pain.”

“I did,” he moaned. His cheeks were red and wet from tears. “There won’t be any pain for you.”

“But the idiot will gladly take enough to kill him, and then he’ll fucking thank you for the opportunity,” Balthazar sneered. “All right, one down, two to go.”

“Wait, there’s more?!” Sam didn’t think Cas—or Dean—could take more of this. “No, you can’t. Cas, my part’s not important. Just stop now, okay? It’s not worth it if you die.”

“Well, that’s rather sweet and all,” the other angel snarked, “and I’m sure you lover birds will cuddle up nice afterwards, but I’ve got only one wing so far, and that’s not going to do the trick, now is it?”

Only one? “Oh, God.”

“Sam, it’s okay,” Castiel said weakly.

He shook his head emphatically. “No, Cas…”

“Keep going,” he ordered.

“Sure thing, boss.” Bal drove the blade into Cas’s other wing and started sawing. The screaming came back in full force. He gripped at the arm that pinned him down with strength that would have easily crushed a human’s bones.

Sam backed up until he touched Dean’s shoulder. He felt a hand latch onto the back of his shirt, but he didn’t call attention to it. Even though no one was paying attention, he knew Dean wouldn’t want the others to know how vulnerable he was, how much this was affecting him. Sam knew the best thing to do was just to be there for him. So, he leaned in, kissed him by his ear, and stayed there. For his part in weathering the storm, he closed his eyes and just tried to shut it out. The shrieking easily brought him close to sobbing. And he wasn’t nearly as connected to the angel as his brother was.

Soon enough, it stopped again, and Balthazar poured more invisible energy into the ornamental cup. Cas rolled over onto his side, trembling. Dean gulped, “God damnit, isn’t there something you can give him?” his voice cracked.

Balthazar glared up at them. “Like hell! Only an angel much stronger than Cas could ease his pain. I’m not even close.” He stuck his pinky finger into the chalice and stirred the contents. After mumbling something in a language they didn’t understand, a white glow appeared. It shined up and illuminated the vessel’s face. He stood and emptied the contents into a single shot glass. “Bottom’s up, yeah?”

But Dean didn’t move. Sam kissed his cheek again. “Go on, Dean.”

“What happens if you can’t finish the job?” he asked, slowly making his way toward the bar.

“Castiel dies.”

He rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “No, I mean, what happens to the stuff I’m putting in me?”

Balthazar laughed. “Fuck if I know. Best guess? It dies, too. Or, it stays, and you get to fly around like a demented canary for all eternity.” He wiped the blade on the leg of his trousers. “Just drink it. I haven’t got all the time in the world, and neither does Cas.”

“Can’t it wait until it’s all done—Sam does the shot, too?”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed. “If this doesn’t work, I sure as hell am not cutting into him again. Believe it or not, I happen to be rather fond of this idiot, and I’m not planning to kill him over nothing.”

Dean wanted to retort, but he didn’t have anything to say. Instead, he picked up the glass, brought it to his lips, and drained the contents. It had no taste, but it felt cold on his tongue—like drinking winter air. He swallowed, as much out of a conviction to go through with it as out of fear that it might disperse if he opened his mouth. He set the glass down just in time for his legs to give out from under him. He tried unsuccessfully to grab a stool on his way down. Though the act did not stop his descent, it slowed him enough so that Sam was there before he hit the ground.

Out of breath, Sam shook him. “Dean? Dean, are you okay? Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.” He tried to stand, but Sam didn’t let him.

But he really was fine. Even better than that. It worked. It worked like a charm. The hole was gone. He couldn’t even feel where it once was. In its place were Cas’s wings and that soothing feeling he’d lived with for a year. With a thought, he unfolded them. And there was no pain to speak of. No headache. No ache of any kind. And he didn’t need another angel’s healing magic to make it work.

Cas lifted his head up enough to look at the hunter. Despite excruciating pain, he still smiled. His eyes walked across the space behind Dean as he looked at his own wings. Though neither their new owner nor his soulmate could see them, he still could. Nonetheless, Dean felt every inch as he opened them all the way.

“Wonderful,” Bal’s sarcasm broke into the moment. Sighing, he bent down to Cas’s back, and pointed the sword at it. “All right, mate, this is the rough part. Now, listen to me, I need you to heal yourself for as long as you can. Heal this body, Cas. If you feel like you’re slipping, focus everything you have on staying awake. You’ve got to. I’m going to go as fast as I can, and I’m going to heal you as well, but I can’t do it without your help, can I? Are you ready?”

With his affirmation, Bal plunged the sword in. Around the edges, white light bolted out of the wound and lit up the room. The angel shouted at the top of his lungs. And it was Sam’s turn to lose it. He couldn’t take the sound, knowing Cas was in unfathomable pain, with the possibility of death, and he was technically the cause. He broke down. Covering his ears, he wept. Dean wrapped his arms around him. Though it didn’t mean anything to Sam, he enveloped them both with the wings and tried to contain his own anguish.

Sweat dripped from Balthazar’s brow as he worked. Every little cut was torture to Castiel, and every movement brought him closer to dying. The sword was designed to kill enemies, angels included, among other things. It wasn’t a scalpel. It was a weapon. No matter how careful he worked, it inflicted damage simply by being too close to him. Wherever possible, he pulled it away during a pause, but that couldn’t make up for the sheer fact that he was hacking Castiel into pieces.

The job was about two thirds of the way done when Cas went limp. He wasn’t dead, not yet, but he would be soon if Bal couldn’t get this piece removed and the wound sealed in a matter of minutes. Blood poured out onto the floor where he kneeled. He repaired what he could, but left most of it untouched. The body could heal later, but if he messed up, Castiel’s real form would never recover.

Without him squirming, though, he could move quicker. Soon enough, Bal had just one small cut left, and it was over. He reached inside the physical and pinched the new edges together. Straight cuts meant the wound would eventually heal if he lived. The hope was that sooner or later it would feel like he never had that piece of himself. Bal was skeptical of that part, but it wasn’t his choice. And all he really cared about in this moment was making sure his friend survived the procedure. He slipped his hand out and set about closing the physical wound. By the time he finished, nearly every centimeter of his vessel’s forearms dripped with blood.

Balthazar picked up the cut-away, specialized organ and held it over the chalice—one of many spoils from his raid on Raphael’s weapons stash. He squeezed it down. With a little heat applied, it melted and dripped through his fingers until the entire essence of Castiel’s healing power was contained in the cup.

“Is he going to be okay?!” Sam cried from a few feet away. His eyes were fixed on Cas’s motionless form.

Bal shot a glance at what remained of the angel. “Hope so. I’d tell you to pray, but that might actually hurt his chances.”

Sam broke free of the other hunter and crawled toward Cas. Since the body was fully healed, he figured touching him probably wouldn’t do any additional harm. He lifted the angel’s head off the hard floor and set it on his leg. “Cas?” He shook him as gently as possible. “Come on, wake up.” Dean walked over and crouched down by his feet as Bal worked the spell. “Cas, you gotta wake up,” Sam begged, shaking him again.

A moan. A sudden exhale. His eyes fluttered under their lids. His left arm rose just enough to drape around Sam’s knee, and, moments later, he summoned enough strength to clutch at it. Sam was relieved, and by the look on Dean and Balthazar’s faces, they were, too. As Cas roused slowly, it became clearer that he would not slip back into danger and that, with time, he would very likely recover. Sam bent over him and patted his back.

“Sam?” the question was muffled and barely loud enough to hear. He knew it was him by scent alone. Both of the Winchesters smelled fantastic to him, but even though they used most of the same products on a daily basis—deodorant, laundry detergent, etc.—there was still something that set them apart. Maybe it was that Dean drank a lot more, or their different diets, or just that they were separate people. What accounted for the divergence didn’t really matter. But he knew it was Sam who’d pulled him off the ground, and who held him.

“Yeah, Cas, it’s me.”

When the angel—well, more like former angel, now—opened his eyes, Sam’s smile was the first thing he saw. But the next instant his heart sank. No evidence at all could be found that the younger hunter had taken on the healing power he’d given up. The man before him was just a man. Shaking, “Y-you didn’t want it?”

Tilting his head in confusion, Sam needed a moment before he understood. “Oh! Shit. The energy—right. No, Cas, I just haven’t—we were worried about you.” He twisted in place toward Bal. “Umm, is it ready?” Was he really going to go through with it?

“Yeah.” He brought it over in a new glass and passed it to Sam.

He made sure Cas could see it. “I’m glad you made it, Cas.” As pissed as he still was, Sam had trouble sticking with that emotion given what he’d just witnessed. He brought the shooter to his lips and knocked it back. Swallowing, “I mean really. It’s—whoa.” He blinked in surprise as the room started to spin. “I don’t—What’s happening?” His insides felt frozen. Cold and numb, but hot around the edges, and pulsing.

“Sam?!” Dean rushed to his side. “Sam!” his voice thundered in the room

Lifting himself up from Sam’s lap, “There’s no place for it to go like you had, Dean,” Cas explained, “So, it will take a little more time for the energy to fit in, for the connections to form. But the process won’t hurt you, Sam, I promise. It’s just going to feel a little weird.”

“Cold,” he let out a breath and for a moment was surprised he couldn’t see it.

Dean did the first thing that came to mind. He grabbed Cas’s trenchcoat off the bar stool and threw it around Sam’s shoulders. It made him feel better even though it had no effect on the angel energy flowing through him. But at the same time, he could feel it gradually warm inside him and spread out to every nerve and cell in his body. Before too long, it changed to a full warmth that lingered, like having a glass of strong wine.

He flexed a little and found that he could move it, draw some of it out from in him to his fingertips. It was at once exciting and horrifying. A foreign substance had made its home in his body, likely permanently. But at the same time, he felt strong. Powerful. And if it worked like it was meant to, Sam would be able to heal people’s injuries and ailments. Every broken bone or cut Dean got—and himself, as well, he imagined—instant fix. Cas, too, probably. Bobby. Anyone they came across. Boom. No more pain. No more dodging questions at the ER. No worry of getting sick.

Cas took Sam’s hand and guided it over to Dean. He pressed Sam’s fingers into skin, just above the scratched up blue cast that covered his half-healed broken wrist. “Give it a try,” he directed. “Guide the energy to your fingers. Not all of it, just a little bit. You’re only going to need a small amount for this.”

Closing his eyes, Sam focused until he felt the cold seep through his hand. “Now what?”

“Sammy, you don’t have to do this,” Dean said in a quiet voice, staying as still as possible. He was afraid he’d mess it up somehow if he moved. “Dude, it’s almost fixed on its own, anyway.”

“No, it’s okay.” His voice was distant as he concentrated. It seemed so soon to be trying it out, but he would have to learn how to use it eventually—preferably sooner rather than later so he could get a handle on it. “What’s next, Cas?”

“Umm, well, when I do it—used to do it—I would picture the wound healing, but you can’t look into it like I could, so, instead, maybe you could try _telling_ the energy what you want it to do.” While the topic was alien to them, his tone already sounded more like what they were used to. More feeling. More indecision and hesitation. When Sam scoffed at the idea of talking to energy, Cas patted him on the knee. “It’s not as hard as it sounds. Just focus on the idea. Dean has a broken bone. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. The energy knows how to fix it. Tell the energy that you’re sending it to fix a broken bone, and it will heal him.”

Sam followed his direction. “And then I just, what, give it to him?” Dean stifled a laugh at his choice of words, and Sam pried one eye open to glare in his direction.

The angel nodded. “When it’s healed, the leftover energy should return to you. Eventually, you’ll have a pretty good idea of how much to use, and maybe even sense injuries and sickness in people.”

Skeptical, “Sounds like wishful thinking.” But he did it, anyway, focusing the power through his fingertips and into Dean’s forearm, earmarked with the express purpose of mending the break.

“Whoa! Holy shit,” Dean exclaimed.

Sam opened his eyes, and his soulmate’s expression said it all. It worked. “We gotta find something to get the cast off, now,” he said to mask his nervousness.

“It’s not infinite,” Cas warned as Sam started to embrace the idea of being able to heal on command. “But it replenishes pretty quickly.”

“How you feelin’?” Dean asked suspiciously, eyeing the now useless hunk of fiberglass on his arm.

Sam grinned. “Amazing. All those aches from every old injury, working out, whatever. Gone. Dude, they’re gone.”

That generated a huge smile from Cas. It was wide and genuine and not befitting at all of an angel. And it took Dean’s breath away. With his brother by all accounts fine, he relaxed. “That’s great, Sam,” Cas said without any hint of regret, though he was still very weak. “God, I missed you both. I’m so sorry.”

“Right, so this is uncomfortable,” Balthazar’s voice cut in before either Winchester could respond. “What a mess. I’m gonna take off, yeah?  You need a ride or—?”

Or he could go with Dean and Sam, be back in their lives as much in person as his energy now was. Cas looked first at the younger hunter and then to his brother, asking without saying a word. Pleading. They already knew he wanted it more than he wanted to go on living. He’d proven that by submitting himself to the operation. But simply because he desired something didn’t mean that he would get it, or that he deserved to have it. In silence, he gradually accepted the possibility that he may still have to be alone. And this time he would be powerless and mortal.

Sam was the first to react. “You wanna room with us again, right? Travel with us?”

“If you’ll have me,” he bit into his lip as very real anxiety overtook him. He didn’t miss that feeling. “Yes, I’d give anything. And I’ll make sure you don’t regret it. I mean it. I’ll stay out of the way. Do whatever you ask.” He locked eyes with Sam. “I’d just love to see you every day.”

Even now, Dean wasn’t sure the risk was worth it. Getting his heart ripped out and thrown in a wood chipper again, when he already had a good thing with Sam, who wouldn’t even dream of hurting him like that? It was stupid to invite him back in. Sweet and selfless as he seemed to be, he was just as dangerous and untrustworthy. And Sam didn’t want him around, either. He didn’t want the possible competition, and yes, he was protective. He didn’t want to see Dean get dragged through the mud a second time. Dean looked down at his soulmate’s face for confirmation.

But Sam was busy staring at Cas, trying to discern if he could believe what the angel’d said. When he finally glanced up at Dean, it was with a look that essentially translated to “Can we keep him?” As in, he was sold on having Cas back in their lives, when only an hour or so before, he didn’t even want Dean to see Cas. And not only that, he used, intentionally or not, the sad puppy look that time and again was certain to get Dean on his side. It was concentrated manipulation, and he was defenseless against it.

He nodded slowly. “But if it doesn’t work out, or you fuck up, we drop you at a bus station without a second thought. Don’t think I won’t.”

Cas had to fight to avoid crying in front of them—from happiness. He wanted nothing else but to be welcomed back into their lives, and it seemed like they might do just that, albeit cautiously. No amount of pain was too high a cost for this reward. “Thank you,” he barely managed.

Balthazar cleared his throat. “Good luck with that. I imagine you’ll need it. Good bye, Cas.” He left them to sort their lives out. Cas wondered in silence if he would ever see Bal again.

“I think we’re in the U.K.,” Sam ended the quiet.

He purposely steered the conversation toward their location in order to ignore the issue at hand. Truth be told, wanting Cas back had been almost entirely impulsive, and he didn’t fully understand why, in that moment, he’d changed his mind. But as the smoke cleared, he wasn’t prepared to defend the position. A loud voice in his head still didn’t want Cas to return, though it had company now. Maybe they could give him a second chance, another voice argued. He gave up so much to be with them, after all.

“We don’t have any passports or anything,” he continued, “so there’s probably only one way to get out of here.”

“Fuck.” Dean leaned against the bar. “Guess I get to play flight attendant, again.”

“More like a pilot,” Cas corrected, trying to cheer him up.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”


	30. Learning to Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Cas sat quietly in the corner, his face lit in shades of blue from Sam’s laptop. He slouched on a worn-out chair with his knees pressed together. His expression was of disinterest, though maybe loneliness and boredom was more accurate, as he searched through pages of information on a small town in the south. It had been experiencing a series of hauntings lately and could be their next job.

They put him to work on small tasks like this, as much to keep him busy as to avoid having to talk about their complicated and damaged relationships with him.

But the scrolling wheel of the cordless mouse—which he used against his thigh instead of the table—and occasional clicking in the otherwise quiet room were beginning to get on Dean’s nerves. Where he’d been genuinely pouring through a book on ghost lore minutes before, now he was only pretending. He looked over at the door, but Sam was out cold in the adjoining room after a particularly rigorous morning romp, and he’d probably stay that way for hours.

Dean got up and tossed the book down on the bed. He walked over and leaned down to have a look at Cas’s progress. “Any luck?”

He smiled up at him sweetly, and Dean felt his chest get tight. “Five different reports across a three block area in the last few weeks. All pretty specific. I’d say it’s a sure thing.”

“Sounds good.” He stayed close, peering at an article Cas had pulled up. According to the local paper, residents were having a problem with an elderly woman scratching the paint off their doors, and, in one case, a man who tried to tell her to stop received similar treatment on his person. “Yeah, I think this’ll work. I’ll let Sam know when he’s less comatose.”

“Anything else you want me to look up?” he asked in the kind of tone an employee might use with a boss.

He didn’t like it. They might not be dating anymore, and their friendship was tenuous, but Cas certainly didn’t work for him, or for Sam. “Dude.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that.” He straightened his back and took a step away.

Cas turned to him, draping his arm over the back of the chair. Dean could read uneasiness and confusion on his face.  “I really don’t mind helping,” he insisted.

But whether he did or not didn’t matter. Even if he minded, he would never say it, because he was willing to do pretty much anything to get back in their good graces, including apologizing every time he thought he did something wrong or overstepped his boundaries. Most of the time he hadn’t even come close. It was irritating, to say the least. And he wasn’t being himself. He wasn’t being anything but a personal assistant. A servant, if they weren’t careful.

“That’s all you do. Help.”

His face changed, and the hunter saw frustration there for a brief moment. “There’s nothing else I _can_ do, Dean.”

“C’mon, man. You can have fun, too. We’re not prison guards. There’s gotta be something you wanna do for you. Booze, video games, something.” As soon as he said it, he knew exactly what Cas’s response would be. Every curse word he could think of filled up his head.

Cas’s eyes lit up. “Well, you, for starters,” he laughed.

Dean could feel his cheeks flush, “Cas…”

“Yeah, I know. Not gonna happen.” He turned back to the computer, closed it, and set the mouse on top. He didn’t seem particularly upset—just resigned. “Maybe alcohol isn’t such a bad idea.”

He rubbed his forehead as a headache started to form. “God damnit.”

“Shit,” Cas sighed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

The apology made Dean’s skin crawl. He’d handed him that line. It was too tempting not to say. He didn’t need to apologize. After a moment to weigh his options, he opened his mouth when he probably should’ve kept it closed. “I mean, maybe we could-uh, we could go get a drink or something.”

Stupid.

This was a bad idea. Cas’d only been with them for three weeks, and, already, Dean was offering to go on a date? And there was no way it wouldn’t be seen that way. Too much history. But the idea was absurd. He couldn’t trust him. Just because Cas was apologetic and subservient didn’t mean Dean should give anything of himself to him again, especially so soon.

But, God, he wanted to, didn’t he? From day one. Waking up with Cas being in the same room, seeing him there—that’s why the sorrys and the helping bothered him so much. He would never make someone he wanted, and maybe even still loved, act like a servant. So, it didn’t feel right. And it didn’t work.

The only thing that stopped him was Sam, and wanting to do right by him. What they had, it was amazing. It was permanent and perfect, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. It just wasn’t as flashy or unpredictable. Their bond had the feel of home and safety and deep, unwavering stability. But Dean’s year-long entanglement with Cas hadn’t been about that. No, it was made of excitement. A rollercoaster. An adventure. It wasn’t safe or stable. It yanked Dean out of his comfort zone and threw him into uncharted waters. It required work. It created hardship.

On the other hand, Sam had to know how he felt about Cas. He always had Dean figured out, usually before the older hunter had any idea about himself. Sam knew what would happen, eventually, if they let the angel back into their lives. And yet he’d still lobbied for it, and took on the healing power. Hell, if Cas’d never gone off the deep end, Sam and him might have a healthy relationship, too, instead of hardly speaking to each other.

“I’d really like that,” Cas replied carefully.

Dean motioned toward the door with his head. “Let’s go.”

Now? Cas couldn’t believe it. The two rarely gave him more than a second glance or a thank you for the work most days—not that he required it—but maybe, at least for Dean, he was just hiding how he felt. There could be no other explanation for going from zero to sixty in an instant and asking him out.

He rose to his feet and advanced. He didn’t stop until the distance was only a few inches.

“Personal space, Cas,” Dean took a big step back. “We talked about this.”

They had. But it’d only taken a few days to get used to living like a human again, which meant eating regularly, bathing, sleeping, walking everywhere, and respecting other people’s personal bubbles. He didn’t have any problems keeping up with it all, now. For most of it, his body gave him the cues he needed. And habit filled in the gaps.

The proximity, this time, was intentional. He moved forward again, reached up to his face, and dove in for a kiss.

He thought Dean might hit him or push him away or something to that effect, but it didn’t happen. It didn’t even take him long to reciprocate. Before he expected it, Dean leaned into him and returned the motion with full force. His lips pressed deeply into Cas’s own, and his tongue followed. To each, they tasted familiar, and they’d gone far too long without.

It was several minutes before Dean broke away from him, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t get anything out. It was just wave after wave of passion and emotion—a turbulent mixture of missing him—missing _them_ —of fear and misgiving and joy, of so much satisfaction at finally being able to touch him again, and, no doubt, of arousal. All of it poured through every molecule, every cell, in his body, electrified and radiated through every nerve he possessed. When it came to trying to express this to Cas, he found that he couldn’t even begin. So, he just stared, lips parted and bright eyes round.

But to an extent, Cas understood, if only because he felt much the same way. He’d been separated from Dean for a few months, and lived with them as basically a roommate for three weeks through an incredible amount of willpower. Yet, it felt like he’d waited ages. Lifetimes. He’d been alive for millennia, but less than a year apart from Dean and his soulmate could’ve been as long. It physically hurt. It was time wasted. It was agony. And it was _over_. All he wanted now was to be with him again, to make him happy.

When Cas went for that spot next to the hunter’s nose, it was all Dean could do to stay on his feet. Even with his angel memories, Cas still managed to hold on to most of the skills he’d developed as a human. He was an expert at turning people on, and with Dean, he could write a book on how to do it properly. Dean gripped the bottom hem of Cas’s shirt and tried not to moan too loud.

The angel applied a little pressure and shoved him onto the bed. Dean let him. He climbed on top and kissed at the hunter’s neck. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine as he gave himself over completely.

The moment was short-lived.

In the next room, Sam awoke abruptly. Wide awake but a little disoriented, he stumbled toward the bedroom in search of his computer—and found them together. His breath caught in his chest, and the blood drained from his face. Trembling, “Dude, are you serious?!”

Dean snapped out of it. His mouth moved as he tried to explain, but he made no sounds. As Sam turned on his heel and retreated, “Sammy?” he finally got out. “Sam, wait! Damnit.” He struggled under Cas as he tried to get up, nearly tossing him onto the floor.

“Fuck,” Cas muttered as he got up to let Dean go.

The hunter dashed through the doorway after Sam without a second thought. This was the worst possible thing that could happen. Sure, he wanted to be with Cas, but not if it meant hurting Sam or what they had. And while Sam had reluctantly agreed to sharing Dean with the angel before, he made no such compromise the second time around. They hadn’t even discussed it. So, what he’d done amounted to nothing but disloyalty and cheating—on his soulmate, who got to walk in on it.

As guilt poured into every inch of his being, Dean caught up to Sam just as he was about to leave the motel suite. “Wait,” he ordered. More like begged.

Sam scowled in his general direction. “What the hell are you doing, Dean?”

“I should’ve talked to you first.”

Or maybe not do it at all. “Fuck you,” he pursed his lips. Tears collected in his eyes and threatened to escape down his cheeks if he didn’t prevent them. “Three weeks, and you jump into bed with him. Three fucking weeks! You didn’t think I might mind? Just a little? God, you’re selfish. Do you even give a shit about me at all? Or don’t you think you have to?”

Dean would have preferred getting slugged to this. A blow to the face would’ve hurt less, and he could take that. “No, Sam, I—I-I’m sorry.” He knew that wouldn’t be enough. “You mean more to me than anything. I messed up. I mess up a lot. And, you’re right, I’m a selfish asshole, and you’re a saint for putting up with me, but I swear you’re everything to me, man. Come on, you know that.”

“It was my fault,” came a voice from the other end of the room. “It was me, Sam. I came onto him. It was me, I swear. It was wrong to do it without asking you first. You should be angry with me.”

“I _am_ angry at you!” Sam retorted, his voice cracking. “You’re _both_ selfish dicks, and you deserve each other!”

Sam went to open the door, but Dean put one hand on it to keep it closed. “Cas, get the hell out of here. I’m serious,” he growled back to the angel without turning away from his brother. “You can leave if you want,” he addressed Sam in a lower tone, “but hear me out first. Please?”

Cas wanted to object, but decided against it. His very presence in the room seemed to make things worse. “I’ll just wait here, then,” he said simply. Biting his lip, he spun around and disappeared into the bedroom. Inside, he leaned against the door and slid down it. He hoped to God that Dean would be able to fix things with Sam. He didn’t want to cause any trouble with and between them.

When he was out of sight, Sam tore into Dean once more. “You think I’ll just always be here, don’t you? That I’ll stick around, no matter what you do or say. You think I’m a sure thing, so you don’t give a shit. You don’t care, Dean, and you take me for granted. You’ll just do whatever you want and to hell if I get hurt in the process.” He paced away from the door and collapsed into a chair.

That wasn’t true. He knew there was a chance he could still lose Sam—he just couldn’t handle thinking about it. But maybe he did take him for granted, too. Their bond was so strong. The idea that Sam would walk out, even with what just happened, was absurd. He couldn’t leave. With their connection strengthened and reinforced as it was, leaving would cause actual pain. Hell, half the time when they were both awake and apart, even just for a short period, each could feel a very real pull to be together again, and practically all they did was think about each other and about getting back.

“I know you wouldn’t leave without having a really good reason,” was his cautiously worded response. He crouched down at Sam’s side, resting his arms on the chair and his chin on his arms. Swallowing, “I didn’t think, and I’m really sorry.”

Sam stayed motionless. But a storm raged behind his hazel eyes.

“Look, Sammy, I don’t—I don’t mean to take you for granted. I have, and I’m a total dick for doing it, but I won’t anymore. I can promise you that. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right? Seriously. I live and breathe making sure you’re okay. I’d die for you in a second. Gimme another chance? I won’t even talk to Cas if you don’t want me to.”

He watched as Sam tried and failed to stay angry. But his sadness lingered. “I’ll always give you a second chance, Dean. You know I can’t help it.” He sighed.

Dean reached for him and caressed his cheek softly. “Then I sure as hell wanna earn that from you.” He licked his lips nervously. “Because I love you, Sam.” It was getting easier to say that.

Still distraught, Sam wanted to ask him if he loved Castiel, too, but he didn’t think he could say it without sobbing, and he already felt too vulnerable and raw. And anyway, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Instead, he opted for a safer route. “Are you gonna, umm, see him again?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t mind it if I could, but I won’t. Not unless you say it’s okay. It’s not worth you walking out, or feeling like you want to. Nothing’s worth that, Sammy. I don’t wanna even think about losing you. I mean, when I have nightmares now, it’s you leaving. I get up in the morning because I know you’re gonna be there.” He raised his head a little so Sam could see how sincere he was. “So, if you want it to just be us, then that’s what’s gonna happen.”

 “This wouldn’t have happened if you just talked to me, Dean,” he sniffed.

His hand found Sam’s and gripped it tightly. “Yeah, well, you’re kinda dating an idiot, I hope you know.” That produced the barest hint of a smile. “I’m gonna try and do better at that. Think you could put up with me while I’m workin’ on it?”

A bigger smile. Upset and miserable as he was, he couldn’t really stay mad at Dean, at least not as much as he should’ve been. “You better make this up to me, dude.”

He kissed him above his ear. “I can do that.”

The bedroom door unlatched, and Cas slinked out. He closed and leaned against it. With his eyes on the room’s tattered carpet, “Do you want me to go?”

Sam looked up at him. Yes. Yes, he did. Cas couldn’t touch Dean if he wasn’t in their lives anymore. But he also didn’t have anywhere to go, and even if they got rid of him, his power would still be in both of them as a constant reminder. “No,” he said eventually.

Dean was more relieved than he showed. In fact, he suppressed showing any reaction. He tried to seem indifferent. But he sure as hell didn’t want to kick Cas to the curb, even if Sam didn’t want him around. And even if they never touched again, the hunter still cared about him, and he still liked having him in their lives.

Nodding slowly, Cas took a few steps toward them. “I had an idea.” When neither Winchester replied, he drew in closer. Stopping just in front of Sam, he didn’t even look at Dean, who rose to his feet and nervously moved away from him. But the angel didn’t even acknowledge that Dean was in the room. He kept his gaze pinned on the younger man. His expression remained as mild as he could make it, with no indication at all of anxiety or fear, even though he was in very real danger of being cast out minutes earlier.

“What idea?” Sam wasn’t curious so much as he wanted to get the conversation over with so he wouldn’t have to look at Cas for awhile. He leaned forward in his seat and glared up at him.

Cas tilted his head to one side a little. “I don’t want you to ever have to feel left out or alone.”

“Okay?”

“I missed you just as much, Sam,” he tried so hard to sound as genuine as he felt. “Thought about you. Worried about you. Wondered if you were all right. And I hate myself for how I treated you. I know I’ve apologized already, and you’re probably sick of hearing it, but I really am sorry, for everything.”

Sam shrugged. “I said you could stay.”

The angel flinched. He shook his head dramatically and even looked offended. “I’m not saying this because I’m afraid you’re gonna banish me. I’m saying it because I adore you, Sam. I want to be with you. And I think, if you wanted to, I know how to fix this, or at least try.” He knew he was starting to blush, and he smiled in an attempt to assuage it. “What I mean is, uh, the three of us. Together.”

“What?” It was a good thing Sam was sitting down.

Dean stayed silent. He thought that was an excellent idea. A three-way? With the two most important people in his life, who he both loved and was extremely attracted to? Awesome. Utterly awesome. He would have killed to have both worlds. Even if it meant he could only be with Cas when Sam was there. That was still a thousand times better than not having him at all. Hell, getting them both at the same time might be an improvement on trying to balance them separately. More so if Sam started to actually like Cas again. The thought of seeing them into each other—like when he’d walked in on them—there was nothing about that he didn’t like.

But he couldn’t imagine Sam would go for it now. Maybe back when they were sharing, and they still trusted the angel. But now? What reason would he have? Sam could keep Dean to himself if he wanted to, and Dean was prepared to be utterly faithful to him, minus the slip up. It would be difficult, and Dean’d probably be miserable, but Sam was worth it. Which meant there was zero incentive.

“You, me, and Dean. Together,” Cas elaborated. “As far as you want to go. Only what you’re comfortable with.” He extended his arm and lightly touched Sam’s chin. “I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want, with either of you. I’d put it in your hands.” He let go before Sam could push his hand away. “But the opposite is true, too, you know. Whatever you want from me, you can have.”

Cas stepped back, shoving both hands into his own front pockets. He shot a fleeting glance at Dean, but it was only to convey that he meant every word he was saying. He wasn’t interested in input.

“I don’t love you, Castiel,” Sam said bluntly, rising to his feet. He used the full angelic name on purpose, as if to remind everyone in the room that Cas wasn’t a human, that he wasn’t and would never be one of them. No matter how hard he tried or what he said.

He let it roll off of him. “I don’t believe you,” he countered. Sam may have been perpetually angry with him, and probably with good reason, but he cared. He definitely did. “But it doesn’t matter. We could still have fun. It’s not like we haven’t before.” Cas looked him up and down suggestively. “Of course, it’s just an idea. If you don’t like it, then it doesn’t happen. Simple as that. It’s a shame, and I think it could be really great, but I just want to see you happy, so—let’s do whatever that looks like.”

With irritation painted on his face, Sam turned abruptly to Dean, who was none too eager to become the center of attention. “Don’t look at me, dude! I’m neutral.” He was anything but. However, he most certainly was not going to advocate on Cas’s behalf after the day’s events. Not if he wanted to keep Sam and their relationship in one piece.

But by staying out of it, Dean made it abundantly clear. If he was against the idea, he would say so. If he wasn’t? Sam’s anger was enough motivation to keep quiet. And anyway, Sam wasn’t an idiot. Of course Dean was for it. He’d said as much, twice. Once when Cas’d suggested they share him, and once when he’d found out about Sam and Cas’s short-lived exercise session.

“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked, avoiding the subject at hand.

Cas raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Well, you keep letting me stay in your life. I mean, I fucked up, and I hurt you—a lot—but I’m still here, and it’s because you allowed it. And I don’t think it has everything to do with Dean. I think, and I could be wrong, but I think you care about me. For some reason,” he laughed. “I can’t come up with another explanation for why you’d do that. Either you’re crazy, or you actually want me here.” He smiled radiantly in Sam’s direction, and Dean tried not to stare.

Standing, Sam walked toward the angel a little and narrowed his eyes. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, approaching in a fluid motion. He didn’t stop until he was within arm’s length, though he didn’t dare touch him. “And something else. When I thought you weren’t going to take on my healing ability, you didn’t hesitate. You were almost offended at the implication. And then, of course, you actually did it, which is something all on its own.”

“You don’t just throw something like that away.” But the response was hasty. What he should have said was that he simply didn’t think about it. He was too caught off-guard, too in the moment. Cas was just reading into something that obviously wasn’t there. “It wasn’t about you,” he added in an attempt to recover, but the damage was done.

“Come on. You do if you hate it! If you want something out of your life, you don’t put it inside you, Sam. You don’t keep it around. I don’t care how useful that power is. You wouldn’t do it if you didn’t want to. Admit it. You like it. And, on some level, you like me.” He craned his neck upward to get as close to eye level as possible, despite the height difference.

Before Sam could respond, Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay, that’s enough, Cas. Lay off.”

But neither of them looked over. “I know I’m not wrong. You can’t say I am,” Cas continued, his voice quieter and more serious.

“Cas!”

Sam lifted both hands in frustration. “You don’t deserve to be forgiven for what you did.”

He nodded. “I know. Which makes that fact that you’re doing it anyway so incredible to me. You’ve got like the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.”

The last comment left him dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say to that. Thanks? Or should he try and insist he wasn’t going to forgive him? But then Cas would just say that by letting him stick around, that was a sign of forgiveness. And he had no counter for that. Cas’s explanation was the only good one out there. Sam had no idea why he kept letting him be with them.

Or maybe he did. Maybe Cas was right.

He’d certainly cared about him once. It wasn’t exactly that crazy of an idea that he might still feel something for him, even though the wounds from him leaving were still open. He didn’t think anything could come close to what he felt for Dean—the sort of tightening deep in his stomach at the mere thought of him and what they had and would always have. But he couldn’t say he felt nothing for the angel. Not when Cas went under the knife for them and spent every waking moment trying to redeem himself.

The ball was in his court. If he said yes, or even that he would mull the idea over, it’d probably make Dean very happy. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it.

Cas carefully rested the palm of his hand on Sam’s chest. “You don’t have to believe me, but I promise I won’t hurt you again.”

“How do I know that?” he found himself asking.

He moved in closer. “I guess you don’t, Sam. You’d have to take a risk, until you feel like you can trust me.”

With a big exhale, Sam gave in. “Okay.”


	31. Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

It took a moment for what Sam said to register. But when it did, Cas didn’t wait for him to change his mind. He pulled the hunter’s head down and kissed him.

Sam made a noise of surprise and tried to pull away, but the angel held him there for a few moments longer, moving with precision in an attempt to at least make it worth his while. He tried to be as non-invasive as possible, though, and only gently pressed into Sam’s lips with his own.  And just as quickly he let go, sliding away from him.

“I really missed you,” Cas’s hand lingered on the man’s arm. “You have no idea.”

“Cas, I don’t—”

As much as he liked seeing them together, Dean felt it was time to intervene. “Sam, don’t feel like you gotta do anything, okay?” His soulmate looked over at him before dropping his gaze to the floor. Dean went to him. He gripped him at the shoulder and turned him away from Cas. Lifting his head to make eye contact, “I’m serious, dude. If this is about making me happy, don’t. You already make me happier than I thought was even possible.”

“Kiss me.”

“Huh?” That wasn’t the response he expected. But in the next instant, he understood why Sam said it. Getting aroused worked just as well as alcohol to lower inhibitions, and Sam wasn’t really a drinker. Hell, he probably couldn’t get drunk anymore, thanks to the angel energy. And moreover, as skilled as Cas was, it wouldn’t do the trick right away. Not without help, and not quickly enough to overcome his trepidation. “Yeah, all right.”

He followed through, lightly at first, before working his way toward something more passionate. As his lips and tongue labored, Sam relaxed. He couldn’t help it. In Dean’s grasp—being touched by him, tasting him—he felt more comfortable than in any other situation, more confident. Safe. Even knowing that in this particular instance the end result could be something dangerous, with a strong chance of emotional discomfort if things didn’t go well, it didn’t matter so much. That was the kind of power and sway Dean had over him, without even realizing it most of the time.

Sam counted on it now to get through the anxiety. The more turned on he got, the less he worried about the mechanics. And Dean was happy to help it along. He reached between Sam’s legs and felt him, moving over the fabric that did little to hinder sensation. He pulled Sam closer by the belt loops of his jeans. “You sure? We could have some fun on our own, you know.” For the second time today. “Just us. Right here. Cas can go take a walk.” Dean’s tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he bit down on it playfully.

“But you wanna try it with both us,” he pointed out, finding it difficult to breathe calmly with Dean handling him where and how he was.

“It’d be awesome,” Dean confirmed, “but I don’t need it. I just need you.”

Sam leaned down to his ear. “You _want_ it, though.”

“Well, yeah.” His eyes lit up.

The younger man slipped out of his grasp and left him abruptly. He crossed the space to the bedroom door. With a few fingers on the handle, he smiled. “C’mon.” He opened the door. Turning to Cas, “You, too. Before I change my mind.”

Cas was overjoyed. He walked up to Sam slowly so as not to betray his excitement. But Sam met him with a kiss, moving in close enough for the sides of their noses to touch. Cas’s hand materialized at his side and crept into Sam’s shirt. Lifting the garment up, his fingers traced the edges of his stomach muscles, and his eyelids hung low as he studied the exposed skin. The two backed into the room without breaking contact. Inside, Sam gave Cas a little more, taking the worn cotton shirt off and tossing it somewhere near his laptop.

Close by, Dean snuck past them, took a seat on the bed, and folded his hands in his lap. He watched with a stupid grin on his face. Cas smiled, and stunning creases and lines extended from the corners of his eyes. Sam couldn’t help but run his fingertips over them, but Cas didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Starting by Sam’s ear, Cas kissed his way down his neck and chest. Sam stood frozen in place. Uncertain about what he should do next and anxious, he found himself unable to make any move at all. Cas proceeded, anyway, by opening his jeans enough to slip his hands inside. The hunter inhaled deeply and shut his eyes.

A light touch between his shoulder blades shook him out of his tension-induced immobility. As an arm wrapped around his stomach, he realized that the disturbance was Dean, who had his lips pressed firmly against Sam’s back. “Dean, what are you—”

“Mmm?” He broke away only enough to speak real words. “Helping.” After a few more kisses, “You look like a deer in the headlights, dude. You gotta relax.”

Sam gripped Dean’s arm as he returned to his back. Cas’s wrist jerked. A moan escaped from deep inside the younger Winchester, though he thought with embarrassment that it sounded more like a whimper. He could feel a knot forming in his stomach. They really were doing this, weren’t they? And he was the center of attention. “This is too much,” he protested. He had two people whose entire focus was on turning him on. Sam wasn’t sure he could take it. “Let me do something or—uh—oh God.”

Pausing, Cas took a step back, but didn’t let him go. “Sam wants to do something,” he leaned to one side to look at Dean. “What does Sam want to do? He could probably have whatever he wants.” Moving in even closer than before, he let go only so he could leave even less room between them. He picked up Sam’s hands and placed them on his hips. “Do whatever he wants.”

Damnit, Dean loved hearing him talk like that, even though it wasn’t directed at him. He was too good at saying the right thing to get someone wanting more. And, as it turned out, his skill with words worked on Sam, too. When faced with the prospect of the angel offering himself up for anything his imagination could supply—along with what he could only assume would be eager involvement from his soulmate—he found himself at a loss for an answer.

But he definitely wanted to keep going. With every touch, more and more of his first romp with Cas came back to the forefront of his memories, and it wasn’t so tinged with the pain that followed for him to be incapable of enjoying it. No, it was pretty much all good. And intimate and sexy and—and now he could have it again. He wasn’t even sure he’d missed it until this moment, but with him so close, it was impossible not to want it, and him. And better yet? That was only half the bargain. Though he couldn’t get a good look at Dean, he could feel him there. He had every bit of his soulmate memorized, and now had every one of their encounters playing on a continuous loop in his head. He ran through the possibilities until he felt dizzy.

Not that he had to come up with anything in all actuality. Cas could read him like a billboard. He reached behind Sam to Dean, grabbed him, and pulled him forward until he bumped into the younger man in all the right places. “How about just like this?” His head bobbed toward the bed, imploring Dean to move in that direction. He enthusiastically complied, stripping down to his boxers along the way. He jumped on the mattress and waited for them to join him.

Cas had very specific plans. Whether Dean knew it or not, he’d long since figured out that, if given the choice, Sam didn’t exactly mind having a few things decided for him when it came to sex. He was, by no means, always into that—and Cas had a sneaking suspicion that the hunters didn’t engage each other in that way. But he certainly liked having a little force applied, so long as he could still change his mind later if he wanted to. The only variable was how Sam might react to the treatment in front of Dean. He’d insisted that Cas never tell anyone—about the hair pulling and being held down—so Cas feared he might not want anything like that, now.

He compromised, pushing him by his stomach closer to the bed. The strength applied was enough to make him stumble back if he didn’t walk voluntarily, but it was subtle enough that Dean might not even think Cas was doing anything important. But the look he gave Sam was clear. “ _I know what you want, and I’m going to give it to you, whether you ask for it or not._ ”

Sam thankfully understood. He hung onto the angel by his shirt and walked back until he hit the bed. “Go on. Get up,” Cas whispered the demand, biting into the soft part of his earlobe. “Preferably with nothing on.”

“Or what?” Sam asked so quietly Cas had to strain to hear it.

He slid his fingers into Sam’s hair and raised both eyebrows. The hunter’s eyes widened, and he gulped. He gave into Cas’s commands, removing every piece of cloth that touched him and joining Dean on the bed. Once there, his soulmate, who’d remained there rather patiently, slid out of his boxers quickly and grabbed Sam from behind. He kissed him dramatically up and down his neck and shoulders.

Truthfully, Sam loved both approaches. About equally. Dean made passionate, often humorous advances, and then he often turned most of the power over to Sam. Along the way, he put everything he had into every second, and he just did what felt right without over-thinking it. Cas, on the hand, had it down to a science. He knew exactly what drove Sam crazy. It didn’t feel spontaneous, but it sure as hell felt good. Both of them still managed to be thorough and personal, and both very easily got the job done. Slowly but surely, Sam accepted that he could have each tactic at the same time—and he counted himself incredibly lucky for the opportunity.

Cas, now sans clothing himself, climbed up to them. He settled in between Sam’s legs and lifted him up enough to end up in Dean’s lap. Cas kissed Sam deeply, reaching down to touch him again. Then, he moved to the left, catching Dean by surprise with an equally passionate kiss. While this particular session was basically designed to win Sam over, it didn’t mean Cas couldn’t have the older Winchester, too. He had no intention of wasting the chance to be with him.

Their kiss went uninterrupted as Dean applied a little liquid help to the situation. He’d gotten fairly skilled at accomplishing the task without making a big deal out of it, and thus without dampening the fun or slowing things down. Though, on occasion, he might take his time for the sake of the sensations it could cause.  But he couldn’t drag things out this time. Sam was too close, and everything was beyond perfect. Without further delay, he shifted his weight a bit, aligned, and thrust.

Between them, Sam inhaled deeply. “Fuck!”

“That’s the idea,” Cas broke away from Dean and plunged down to Sam’s thigh. His tongue traveled upwards. Sam grabbed him at the shoulder and applied pressure in the right direction, but Cas smacked his hand away. Worse yet, he stopped kissing him and grinned. “If you want something, you can ask. And I’ll take it under consideration.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that. Cas never really pulled this routine with him, but it probably wouldn’t have worked as well. While he enjoyed everything the angel did to and with him, Dean didn’t love calling attention to the implications of it. But it wasn’t much of a problem for Sam. At least it didn’t seem like it. He never worried about whether or not people thought he was masculine or strong. He valued things like devotion and trust and love. That trumped everything else. So, when it came to sexuality, it just wasn’t something he thought too much about.

Most of the time, Dean managed to avoid thinking about it since he was also very clearly interested in women. Even though his primary love interests were now both men, if Cas had been in a woman’s body, the story might have been the same.

Maybe.

But he had to admit, realistically, that he may never be with a woman again. Or anyone else for that matter. Castiel was a special case. No way would Sam want to share Dean further, nor should he have to. And anyway, Dean couldn’t even imagine leaving him to chase after anyone else. The idea made him feel sick.

And, honestly, he wasn’t that upset about it. It was good, what they had. And what they could have with Cas back. Oh yes, it was. 

He wrapped one arm around Sam and pushed, withdrew, and pushed again. He’d mastered the art of allowing for just enough friction to maximize the feel of him—hot and a little tense. He thought about telling him to chill out a little, because then Sam might it enjoy it more. But at the same time, he kinda hoped Sam wouldn’t, just for a few more minutes. He was so tight like this. Ultimately, Dean decided against it. Sam would relax on his own soon enough. He didn’t need coaching anymore.

Dean alone seemed to take notice, as an exchange with Cas held most of Sam’s attention. Laboring to breathe regularly, the younger Winchester overcame his embarrassment for the sake of the pay off. “Please?”

Cas smiled viciously. “Please what?”

He glared at him as Dean made a particularly precise drive. “Cas,” he gasped. He didn’t have to actually say it, did he? Sam wasn’t certain he could. Even as turned on as he was, he thought he’d die in the process of asking. No matter how much he wanted it.

Enough tormenting. Cas ran his gaze across Sam, who was overcome with ecstasy and still wanting more. “Oh, fine.” He bent down, took him up in one hand, extended his tongue, and tasted him. “You know, this is the first time we’ve been together where I could actually look at you,” he pointed out and licked him again. “You’re bigger than I thought.” Cas waited long enough to see Sam’s face turn red before plunging in completely.

Sam couldn’t think of a time when he felt better. Hell, he couldn’t really think at all. As Cas’s lips hugged him and Dean worked himself deeper, it was all he could do to avoid collapsing. Every muscle in his legs, stomach, and back felt tight, and at the same time barely under his control.

But his soulmate held onto him tightly. Dean’s arm migrated across Sam’s chest, and his hand came to rest on his jaw. He pulled Sam’s head back so he could get even closer to him. The smell of Sam’s hair filled his nose. To get better leverage, he pushed off the mattress and, at the same time, yanked Sam down onto himself.

Cas picked up the rhythm right away and emulated it. In the brief moments where Sam could keep his eyes open, he focused on the slight movement in Cas’s back as he worked.

The angel could’ve got Sam there in no time, but he prolonged it, held it off. He brought him close and then paused, screwed up the rhythm, and distracted him by gripping at his ankle. Anything to keep it going longer. But Dean made no such effort. He wanted to see Sam climax. Preferring to make sure their subject enjoyed himself as much as possible, Cas changed his approach, applying his tongue and a little pressure to the optimal result.

Unable to hold off any longer, Sam gave in. As every muscle tensed and then relaxed, he pulled oxygen into his lungs and clutched at the sheets as though his life depended on it.

“Oh-oh fuck!” Sam breathed. With such an intense finale as the duo offered him, he couldn’t manage anything more eloquent.

After a moment, Cas sat back, swallowed, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He beamed. Seconds later, Dean disconnected, kissed Sam passionately, and promptly tackled Cas. Sam lay back on the bed—all of his energy completely gone—and watched with mild curiosity as his companions enjoyed some serious one-on-one time.

Dean took the lead, and he effortlessly got Cas’s legs up around his shoulders as the angel seemed practically giddy with the sudden change. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, and, after barely a pause to reapply lubricant, the hunter pushed inside him. Sam felt like he was watching a porno—what, with how rigorously they went about it, and how attractive he found them both. He felt himself getting turned on again as he watched Dean lift Cas up a little to get a better angle so he could thrust deeper. There was no way Sam’d be able to go again anytime soon, but he could still enjoy the show.

He wasn’t sure if he should be staring. They’d left him in the dust to do their own thing. Maybe that was Sam’s cue to leave. What were the basic rules of threesomes, anyway? He didn’t have the slightest idea.

But he sure as hell didn’t want to move if no one was going to make him. And as he lay there observing them, he surprisingly didn’t feel much jealousy. How could he after they’d both spent so much time and energy on him? And more importantly, they looked so happy. Smiling and kissing, on the verge of laughing even—they seemed incredibly comfortable with each other.

And relieved.

As much as Sam wanted to still be angry with Cas, and yes, on some level, still wished he could have Dean all to himself, he couldn’t justify it now. They enjoyed each other too deeply, and he cared about Dean—and Cas, it would seem—too much to try and stop them.

It took a few minutes before either of them noticed they had a one-person audience. Dean blushed. He touched Sam’s cheek in an attempt to reassure him. “Hey, you gunnin’ for round two already?”

Sam shook his head emphatically. “Don’t think I can move.”

Cas laughed and closed his eyes. Dean shrugged. “Well, you’re welcome to stick around if you don’t mind us—uh—” he motioned toward the entangled ball of body parts that made up himself and Cas.

“Finishing up the party,” Cas supplied, kissing the older hunter intensely. Dean countered with a dramatic thrust, and they got back into it as though they’d never been interrupted. Sam was more than happy to let them, and he tried not to be too obvious of a voyeur.

For Dean, having a more experienced partner again was absolutely wonderful. Sam brought plenty to the table. And sex with him was amazing. They always had a good time, and being with him felt _right_. But Cas was a walking encyclopedia of pleasure. Not only was he skilled, but he knew little things that took sex from great to out of this world.

Case in point, he flexed just a little with every heave of Dean’s, and he did it with perfect timing. The corresponding sensation radiated through him. He was two-thirds of the way to climaxing before they’d even connected, and now this? “Dude, you gotta stop that,” he chastised in a quiet voice.

“And pass up an opportunity to get two Winchesters off in under half an hour?” Cas bit into Dean’s arm playfully. “Not a chance.”

Though, in truth, Cas wished it could last for ages. It was a given that he enjoyed it. But, God, did he love the _feel_ of it. And everything about having him penetrate deep inside. Heat. Friction. Texture and movement and rhythm. The angel was just as comfortable providing this kind of treatment as obtaining it, but there was nothing on Earth that felt quite like what Dean gave him now. He found himself utterly defeated! Taken over. Out of breath.

They’d connected in this exact way dozens of times before, but it was different on this particular occasion. And it wasn’t just the extended time apart or the longing or even Sam’s presence. Cas felt none of the pain like he’d endured during most of his time with them. Nor was he much of an angel. With the soothing power to heal gone, he possessed no cloak to wrap himself in, no buffer between the physical world and his senses. So, he experienced everything. And then some.

The manual control over his body had vanished. He imagined he wasn’t doing much better than any human at this point. Where Cas could once regulate the beating of his heart and literally every other thing the pseudo-vessel did and all the functions it had, now it betrayed him. Down to the blood in his veins, and the oxygen it carried—out to the nerves. Hormone levels skyrocketed. His pulse pounded in his ears.

With each jerk forward, along with every time he pulled away, Cas inched closer to orgasm. He couldn’t help it. His form knew what it liked as much as he did, but it called all the shots. He covered his mouth with both hands in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable, as though if he couldn’t make any noises, he wouldn’t finish ahead of schedule. But doing so alerted the hunter, who, after a moment of intense study, deciphered his tell. Appreciation of his predicament set in, and true to form, Dean wickedly took advantage.

He forced him down by the shoulders and shoved. The bones in his pelvis dug into the backs of Cas’s thighs, and even something so arbitrary as that only served to worsen the situation. Cruelly, Dean pulled his hands from his mouth. He couldn’t prevent the moan that escaped. And a moment later, he couldn’t hold out any longer.

Fuck. It was too soon. He didn’t mean to—he wanted to keep going. With Dean still inside him, he withdrew as much as he could without getting out from under him. “I-umm—sorry,” he said quietly, bringing his knees together.

But Dean shrugged and kept going, though quicker this time. “Oh, shut up.” A minute or so more of thrusting, and he finished, too. A bit damp but otherwise none the worse for wear, he collapsed at Cas’s side, his chest heaving up and down. When he recovered, “That’s a new one.”

“I don’t have the control, anymore.” But he hated how pathetic that sounded. “And, well, you’re really sexy.”

Dean laughed. He didn’t see a downside to Cas being more human, even if the angel did. “You know it.”

After a short break to clean up, the three returned to the bed to lounge around for hours. They lazily lay next to and on each other, switching positions occasionally to maximize the amount of closeness each person enjoyed. Sam was an active participant.

They grabbed some takeout for dinner and returned to bed soon after. As they drifted closer to sleep, Sam settled between them with his nose pressed into Dean’s chest and Cas’s arm draped over him. His last thought before slumber was a hope that they’d have more nights like this one.


	32. Paradise City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Dean hung back, leaning against the hood of his car and rubbing at his eyes in the early afternoon sun. Cas paused at the base of the stoop as Sam and the woman went inside. He turned and walked swiftly back to the hunter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, man. Just tired.”

Bullshit. “If you don’t like the idea, Dean, you should tell him before he gets his heart set on a place. I think he really likes this one.” Cas kept his distance, but touched the side of Dean’s arm lovingly.

He shrugged. “He wants a place to open up shop. And you know he won’t quit until he gets it. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t think it’s about that.” Cas tilted his head toward the property: a rather stunning brick townhouse that sat on the corner of the street. It was old, like most of the other buildings in the neighborhood, and had black shutters on the tall main floor windows. The place looked twice the size of the last, with three stories and an unfinished basement. Sam already loved it—without even going inside. From what little Cas could see, he liked it, too. If they really were going to take up residence in a city, despite his lobbying for a farm or rural place away from people, this one was at least big enough and quiet enough to suit their purposes.

“Then, what?”

Rather than look at him, he let his eyes unfocus. “Best of both worlds. I haven’t known Sam as long as you have, obviously, but he’s always seemed pretty independent. You know, looking for a way to do his own thing—matter and make a difference on his own.”

“Like I said, set up shop.”

Shaking his head, “But he also doesn’t wanna be left alone, Dean. And not only that, he wants stability, and he wants to know you’re safe.” He brushed off some dirt caked onto Dean’s coat. “You two are incredible hunters. You’re scary good at it. But it’s dangerous and unpredictable, and you get hurt a lot. One of these days, eventually, some creature is gonna get lucky, and I know I don’t wanna see that. My heart skips a beat every time you come back injured. Or even when you’re late. I can only imagine how he feels watching it happen.”

“No place is gonna be safe,” he countered. “If we’re not out doin’ pest control, the shit’ll come here and find us. It doesn’t matter how much hoodoo we put on the walls or salt we stock up on. Maybe Sam wants to pretend for awhile. Okay, fine. But I’m not retiring, and he knows that. This ain’t about me, Cas. It’s about him wantin’ something different than what I gotta do.”

Cas snorted. “That kid would follow you into Hell if you asked it of him. I wouldn’t sell him short like that. He has a reason for pursuing this, and it’s you. Yeah, no place is perfect, but your life expectancy is bound to be a little better in a home we can protect and fortify than it is going toe-to-toe with killers and monsters!”

Dean was stubborn and prone to thinking everyone in his life would abandon him, and Cas knew that he’d only made it worse by leaving. But if anyone had a vested interest in Dean settling down, it was Sam, and Cas didn’t have a lot of patience with arguments to the contrary.

When Cas eventually made eye contact, Dean looked away. The angel continued less forcefully. “I’m just saying that he’s probably run the numbers, spent time thinking about it. And he doesn’t like the idea of losing you. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you. But he knows it will if you stay on the path you’re on, if you keep hunting. So, maybe you should retire, or at least consider it. Take less chances. The payoff is that you might get to live longer, and you get to have Sam in the flesh and blood a little while longer.”

“And you think that’s what Sam wants?” He took a step away from the vehicle. “Or just what you want?”

“The only time I get to have with either of you is in this world. I’d be lying if I didn’t wanna keep you here longer,” Cas folded his arms across his chest. “But I would bet that if you asked Sam, he’d tell you, too. You have some pretty good reasons to look out for yourself, in other words.”

Dean paced away from him. “How many people are you willing to let die while we play house here?”

“I’m not willing to let _you_ die if I can help it!” he tried and failed not to shout. Turning down the volume, “And there are other ways to save people. Ways that don’t get you killed. Like Sam’s gonna do here, you know? I mean, fuck, if it’s not enough that I want you to keep breathing, he’s gotta be. Just ask him.”

He wiped his face with one hand and smoothed back his hair. “God damnit, Cas. Yes, of course it’s enough.” They’d been back together for six months now, but it felt like years. And that didn’t include their first year together before the temporary split.

“Then, just tell me you’ll think about it. For me, and for both of us?”

“Yeah.” He patted Cas on the shoulder and ascended the concrete stairs before disappearing into the house.

The angel needed an extra moment to compose himself. It wouldn’t do well to have the realtor see more than she had to. If he looked upset, she might notice and want to know why—and then he would have to come up with an excuse. And a lot of what they were doing was illegal, so anything that could possibly raise a red flag needed to be avoided.

He reminded himself that, at least for Dean, buying a house was a huge step.

When Sam’d first mentioned the idea of procuring a home base, he’d pitched low, suggesting an apartment somewhere. They could pay with cash and still stay off the radar somewhat without really being tied down. But when Dean finally gave in, he upped the stakes to a rental house, and then to actually buying one. It was a bold move, but so was the idea that went with it. Sam wanted to start healing people—hunters—regularly. And he wanted a nice place in which to do it.

But you couldn’t really buy a house with stolen credit cards and poker earnings. What you could buy, however, were three new identities. For a few grand each, they’d purchased a veritable truckload of the necessary paperwork, complete with new last names and social security numbers, for tax and credit purposes. Throwing in a few hundred more, Cas— _Lucas_ —got a boosted credit rating, which they made sure was impressive enough for them to get a loan for their fake business and a mortgage on the house.

As part of the package, they each got DMV-generated driver’s licenses and real passports made from their fake information. For last names, each chose one from various types of whiskey. Lucas _Daniels_. Sam _Walker_. And Dean _Jameson_. Dean would have gone for “Walker,” too, but the back alley counterfeiter insisted each would have to have a different last name. In the final stage, inserting three people’s information into government databases would prove difficult enough, but having them be similar at all might set off alarms in the systems.

The change cut into Dean pretty deeply, though he attempted to shrug it off. He didn’t like the idea of losing anything he and Sam shared, even if was just a name. But at least they wouldn’t have to try and explain their relationship to anyone, Cas reasoned. Philadelphia had come a long way since the 90s and Tom Hanks. Two men with different last names being romantic posed basically no problem for the people here. They might not even look twice.

Cas joined them in the main room, a large open space with a hardwood floor and pale blue wallpapering. Sunlight lit the room beautifully.

To his right, he spied a hall that gave way to a small kitchen already furnished with new appliances, clad in stainless steel. A stairwell led up from the hallway, to what the realtor assured them was a guest bedroom on the second floor, a master bedroom above it, two bathrooms—one for each floor, along with half of one under the stairs on the main level—and a small den. In the back of the house, there was a laundry area and a dining room, along with a tiny open-air parking lot accessible by an alley. The latter was essential, both for use by the visitors and escape if needed. And even better yet, the alleyway connected to multiple streets.

This place was miles above the other two locations they’d checked out in Philly and most of the dozens upon dozens of listings across the country they’d poured over. The realtor provided even more insight, talking up the merits of the neighborhood, the strength and the quality of the building, etc. Of particular note: the oak trees outside allowed for extra privacy in the warmer months, and the building had all the specifications necessary to get a business permit.

And, she quipped, Amish and Pennsylvania Dutch baked goods were unmatched anywhere in the country. Apple pie and pumpkin bread so good it should be illegal. Dean counted that as the best thing he heard the whole visit.

Sam couldn’t stop smiling as they toured the building. He loved this house. The front room would be perfect for healing people, and he could already picture how it would be set up, with benches and a desk. From there, his mind wandered. They could fill this place with real belongings, more than what would fit into a single car. Furniture, books, pictures—they could make it their own. Sit and drink beers in front of _their_ TV, on _their_ couch, and sleep in a bed they knew for sure was clean. Maybe they could even have regular, real meals made here instead of at some greasy diner.

It would be perfect.

The others couldn’t help but notice. Cas simply smiled back at him whenever their gazes met, but Dean had a larger role to play. The angel was right. If he wanted to put the brakes on this, now was probably the last real time he could do it without completely destroying his brother emotionally. But the look on his face—the excitement and happiness—killed any chance of that. He couldn’t let him down. The whole idea made him feel dizzy, but if it meant Sam would be this happy? Regularly? God, he couldn’t say no to that.

When the realtor and Cas started to make their way back down the stairs, Dean stopped Sam from following with one hand on his wrist. His soulmate spun around and kissed him excitedly. “What do you think?” he asked with a level of bravery.

Dean forced himself to shrug nonchalantly. “It’s nice.”

“You hate it.”

Yep. “No.” Dean caressed his cheek. “If it makes you happy, Sammy, you can have whatever place you want.”

Sam didn’t press his luck by keeping the conversation going. He wasn’t convinced Dean would ever be sold on the house, but he hoped it might grow on him.

***

He sat on the porch, staring off into the jungle of tangled metal that made up his backyard. He’d done this for two weeks now, forgoing basic human needs whenever possible. Unless forced or pestered, he remained there, a morose expression painted on his face.

But while Bobby may have been resigned to his situation and convinced that it made him useless, Ellen had zero interest in letting him wither away like this. Especially not practically on the eve of their big day. So, when she wasn’t kicking his ass in gear or banishing him from the house, she set about trying to find him some help.

Unsurprisingly, most normal medical doctors didn’t have much to offer. A spine crushed this bad? If they said anything beyond that it was hopeless, it usually involved being surprised Bobby was still alive. But Ellen wasn’t shocked. The old hunter wasn’t just a fighter. He was the most stubborn person she knew. Too stubborn to die, she thought. But he couldn’t accept his situation, either. No matter how useful to others he still was—and Ellen reminded him that most things, like answering phones, providing advice, etc., hadn’t changed—he remained inconsolable. He wouldn’t even tell any of their friends or acquaintances. The only people who knew were the ones who’d visited, and even then, he never wanted to see them for long.

Without a doubt, it was majorly dampening the upcoming festivities. Ellen and Bobby had walked the romantic line before, but the angel civil war and the constant feeling of danger it created put them over the edge. They fell into a sort of loose courtship at first, with El dropping by, arms laden with food, or Bobby calling “just to make sure” she was doing all right. A few months later, they saw each other so often that Ellen moving in was simply easier. And it saved on gas money.

Getting hitched was a logical progression from there. While they both had prior marriages that left them widowed, and in the beginning each swore they’d never marry again, it just felt right. They’d hunted together and been friends for so long, and now they loved each other, too. No reason it shouldn’t be proper.

And then the accident happened. Ellen was just happy to have him still breathing.

In this emotional state, though, he wasn’t much of the Bobby she knew and adored. So, she ran through the options, made what felt like hundreds of phone calls, and poured over every relevant book in his library. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. A faith healer? Some voodoo priest or spell? She even considered trapping an angel and forcing it to heal him, but if she never saw another one of those bastards in her life, she’d count herself lucky.  And anyway, she had no idea how to do that.

Her hard work paid off that morning, however. One of the few hunters who did know about Bobby’s condition was a slightly eccentric kid by the name of Garth. He wasn’t that great of a hunter, though he proved occasionally useful on small cases. But he _was_ fairly good at information gathering. She’d put him to work on day one.

See if you can’t find something, anything, she’d told him, and keep your ear to the ground. When he appeared at their door in an old station wagon, Ellen knew he’d found something.

He sauntered in quietly and took a seat in the kitchen. She brought him a glass of lemonade with ice. “Bobby likes to spike it, but it’s damn fine without it if you ask me,” she muttered.

Garth picked up the beverage and took a sip. “Oh, it’s sweet. I can dig it,” he smiled. When she impatiently asked him if he’d found anything, he shook his head, and her heart sank. Then, “Not exactly. But there’s a rumor goin’ around about a healer.”

A noise at the doorway signaled Bobby’s entrance. He sneered up at the newcomer. “What are you doin’ here, Garth? You ain’t in trouble again, are ya? God damnit, boy, I told you. You can’t fucking come here every time—”

“Bobby!” Ellen scolded. “Garth’s got some news.”

The kid cleared his throat nervously. “Umm, hey, Bobby.” He took a few big gulps of his drink. “Yeah, uh, like I said, there’s a rumor, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Well, spit it out.”

Sighing, “People are sayin’ that a couple of hunters opened up a little clinic out on the east coast. A clinic to heal other hunters. Nobody seems to know how they’re doin’ it, and I haven’t been down there yet, but, from what I hear, they can fix anything. Common cold? Poof! Gone. Broken leg, appendix bursting, bad eyesight—you name it.” He took another drink. The ice clicked against his glass as he set it back down. “Best I can figure, they’ve got to have a magic object or something.”

Ellen straightened her back and put both hands on her hips. “What’s the catch? That sounds like exactly what we’re lookin’ for, hun.”

“Word on the street is that it’s some friends of yours. The Winchesters.”

“What?! Have you finally lost it completely, boy? Not a chance. I just talked to them last week. For fuck’s sake, if I wasn’t in this chair—” He looked like he might try to jump out of his seat, anyway.

Garth shook his head almost comically fast. “I mean, they’re not goin’ by that anymore, but I checked it out. They got fake IDs, of course, but the first names are right. They’re set up in a townhouse in Center City, uh, in Philadelphia.”

Still angry, Bobby spun his wheelchair around and darted off into the house. Ellen sighed. “We’ll check it out. Thanks, Garth. Appreciate it.”

He bobbed his head like a bird and rose to his feet. Meandering toward the exit, “Good luck.” He took his leave.

She immediately went after Bobby, and caught up to him in the living room. “You could stand to be a little nicer to that kid. He looks up to you.”

A grunt was his only response.

Trying to contain her anger, she paced around the room. “You know,” she said after a long silence, “maybe it’s not the boys after all.”

Taking off his hat, he scratched behind his ear. “What, like a couple of shapeshifters? Don’t seem very likely, Ellen.”

“No, but who do we know that can heal folks like it’s nothin’ special? More importantly, who do they know?”

Bobby went pale. “The angel? No—I think they woulda mentioned that.”

Shrugging, “Now, I don’t know about that, babe. How would you have reacted? Maybe they’ve put him to work for some good. Got him on a leash. I dunno. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Can’t be sure, but if you’d keep something like this from them,” she gestured toward the chair, “then, I hate to say it, but they could probably hide somethin’ just as big from us.”

“Only one good way to find out,” he moved to a nearby closet and pulled out an old burgundy duffel bag prefilled with travel supplies. “I’m gonna take the van for a few days.”

“Great! I’ve got one heck of a giant craving for a Philly cheesesteak right now.”

He scoffed. “Like hell. You’re staying here.”

Ellen was taken aback by that. Bobby had barely managed to do anything for himself since the injury, at times because he couldn’t in some respects, but more often because he gave up too quickly, got frustrated, or just blatantly refused. He hadn’t left the house since coming home from the hospital, even though she’d gotten him a van that was fixed up so that he could drive it without the use of his legs. Now, he wanted to drive halfway across the continental U.S. to face God knows what? Alone?

She couldn’t tell if this was him finally taking back control over his life, or if he’d just gotten so desperate that he didn’t care what happened. “It’s not safe. If what we’re dealing with ain’t the boys—”

“I can damn well take care of myself,” he cut her off. Realizing his volume level and rage were misdirected, he adjusted to speak to her properly: quieter and without as much of the bite. “And aren’t we in the home stretch? You got a million ‘n’ one things to do if we’re gonna have that fancy shindig.”

Her expression softened. “It can wait, sweetheart.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want it to. I think I’m startin’ to get antsy.”

She pounced, flying in low for a kiss. After awhile, “We can’t have a damn wedding if you don’t come back in one piece!” her voice cracked a little.

“Nothin’s gonna happen,” he assured her. “Except a good chance we can actually get hitched at eye level.”

Ellen’s fingers traced the edges of his beard. She sniffed. “You get the hell outta dodge if it don’t look kosher, okay? You promise me, Bobby Singer. Or you call somebody or something. We are having this wedding in three weeks, ya hear?”

He rolled his eyes, but nodded sincerely. “You got it.”

It took him a surprisingly short amount of time to pack a few extra things to help him get around better—fifteen minutes tops—and he was out the door. El stopped him for one more kiss. “If it _is_ the boys, will ya tell ‘em about the venue change? I know they said they’re coming, but my gut feeling is they’re gonna get lost or go to the wrong place.”

“Yeah, yeah!” He smiled at her for what certainly felt like the first time since his accident. Ellen watched him get in the vehicle, fuss with the steering wheel height, and then drive away. She stood there for several minutes after, hoping he’d turn around and come back. When he didn’t, she reluctantly went back inside, terrified she’d end up a widow again, this time before her marriage even started.


	33. Give a Little Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

There were more than twenty small faces in the brightly colored room. Toys were strewn everywhere. The sharp smell of antiseptic lingered and caught in the back of their throats. A handful of nurses kept their distance, and some parents dotted the benches along each wall. Volunteers were scarce today, likely scared away by the inclement weather: an unseasonably cold downpour. But two had still made the trip, bearing a few children’s books for reading and a large plate of cookies, baked to strict pre-approved specifications.

“Do I have chocolate chip? Of course I have chocolate chip! Here you go, sweetheart,” Cas lowered the plate so the little girl in front of him could select one. Her eyes grew gigantic as she realized how big the cookies were. She could have a whole one herself and even come back for seconds if her mother and the nurses said it was okay. As she reached for a medium sized one near the edge of the plate, Cas looked over at Sam. That was his cue. He gently set his hand on her head for a few seconds before taking it away.

The girl took a bite of the cookie, but didn’t immediately return to the group. She turned to Sam and stared at him. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said eventually. “What’d you do?”

Smart girl. Most times, if the child noticed the healing right away, they blamed it on the baked goods. “Magic,” Cas supplied in a low voice.

“Like Harry Potter?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely like Harry Potter,” Sam confirmed. “But since we’re not supposed to use our spells outside of Hogwarts, you gotta keep this a secret, okay?” The news of the girl’s miraculous recovery would reach her parents eventually, either through a medical scan or simply the obvious physical signs that her belly was no longer filled with cancer. They were taking a chance at being discovered by working with large groups like this, but Sam wanted to help as many kids as he could.

This was the third such children’s hospital they’d been to this month, and each time it was the same story. Hand out food, heal the kids, and leave before someone noticed all the terminal cases were healthy again. This group was the biggest yet. Sam’d only healed ten at a time before, now he had to pull more than double that amount.

“Are you gonna help the other kids?”

Sam smiled. “That’s why we’re here. That, and to bring the great cookies my friend made.” He nudged Cas with his elbow.

“Do you like them? I’m still learning how to bake things.”

She tried another bite, and nodded. “It’s good.”

“Great! Wanna tell the others to get cookies, too? You know, even if they’re not hungry,” Cas winked dramatically. The little girl scurried off, and from across the room they could see her whispering to the other kids. Already, though, her mother seemed to notice the spring in her step as her eyes followed the girl from over top a paperback novel. Cas silently hoped they could move things along more quickly.

As the ailing children lined up for their snacks, Sam administered a life-saving bolt of healing energy to each one. Tumors shrank into nothing, degenerative illnesses were stopped in their tracks and reversed, and one case of HIV/AIDS contracted at birth was cured.

For four of the kids, all in wheelchairs, their remedies were set on a delay, in order to give the duo a chance to leave without much suspicion. Weeks earlier, Cas had taught Sam how to place the power with an _intention_ to heal in the wrong part of the recipient. As the body slowly absorbed the earmarked energy, it would take effect in the way it was supposed to. It would be a gradual recovery, but no less miraculous to outsiders.

By the time he reached the final patient, a little boy with Leukemia, Sam was exhausted. He’d tapped into every last drop of energy that he could give out and was running on fumes. But it was worth it. They would get to live. Their families would get to see them grow up. They weren’t dying anymore. They weren’t in pain. Twenty-two youngsters in total. He wished he could do this every day.

Cas got up and offered the remaining cookies to parents and nurses, explaining that they had to leave. He left the sugary treats behind and pulled Sam up from his seat. They departed hurriedly.

But not fast enough. The first girl’s mother sprinted down the hall after them. When she caught up, she grabbed Cas by his shirt. “What did you give my daughter?” she accused. “You put something in her food! Tell me what you fed her!”

He threw up his hands in alarm. “Oh my God, is she okay? Is she having a reaction?! I triple-checked the ingredients against the list,” Cas made to head back to the room. Though his only problem with lying was that he did too often, the angel was getting better at acting, at playing a part. It actually impressed his companion.

“No, you put some kind of drug in it. Uppers or something,” she stammered, “She’s hyper for the first time in months.”

He shook his head. “It’s just sugar, ma’am, I swear. Butter, flour, chocolate… I gave them to everyone. I even had two on the way over here.”

She let him go, but stood there dumbfounded.

“Is she still having chemo?” Sam asked. “You never know, maybe it’s working.

“They’ve given her only a few weeks,” she said quietly, her face pale.

“She looked so much healthier than that today, though,” Cas pointed out. “Smiling a lot. I’m glad she’s having a good day, at least. I hope she gets a bunch more of those.”

Sam patted her arm. “Yeah, she seems like a great kid.”

The woman backed up. Dull sunlight from floor-to-ceiling windows silhouetted her. “Why do you come to these things, anyway?” her voice held more exhaustion than accusation now. “You weren’t nervous so I’m guessing this isn’t your first time. Was it a family member?”

Shaking his head, Sam tried to radiate sympathy in her direction. “We just want to help.”

“Well,” she coughed, “thank you.”

“No problem,” Sam waved as she left. They turned and made their exit. Down the hall, they could already hear the echoes of other parents and staff beginning to freak out.

Once outside, the wear and tear of the session took its toll on Sam, who found it difficult to walk all the way to the car without help. But Cas was right there to give it. He guided him into the passenger seat and hopped in on the driver’s side. Technically, the only other person Dean ever let operate the Chevy was Sam, but the younger Winchester was in no shape to be behind the wheel. And Dean was engrossed in a carpentry project back home, building furniture from scratch for the spare bedroom in an attempt to keep busy. He couldn’t fly to a place he’d never been before to pick them up, and every second they stayed in the hospital parking lot increased their risk of being found out.

Besides, Cas had been a relatively accomplished driver in his thirty-three human years, and he’d had a refresher course with Dean since—in a stolen BMW. So, he felt he was up to the task. Starting the engine, he listened to it purr for a few seconds before pulling it out of the spot and leaving the hospital behind them.

He didn’t let himself calm down at all until they were on the open road, headed north from Wilmington. Next to him, Sam curled up in the seat. It was a natural reflex. He’d done it thousands of times across his life, either with Dean at the wheel or their father. He’d slept there on more occasions than any one bed by far, including the king-sized one the trio shared. Until a month ago, the only real home he had was this car.

Pressing one foot into the gas pedal and then the clutch with the other, Cas shifted up a gear. He felt the machine react with precision. Driving this vehicle was incredible. It felt exciting and downright sexy. Taken with the history, no wonder Dean was so protective.

He resolved to be as careful as possible not to do any damage to it.

The house was about forty-five minutes away. At the halfway mark, he reached over and touched the top of Sam’s head. “You’re getting stronger, but you strained yourself big time,” he pointed out, keeping his eyes on the road. “It might take a few days before your reserves are replenished.”

Sam smiled. “Worth it. Besides, you’ll just have to take care of me, again.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re gonna keep wearing yourself out so I’ll cook for you and wait on you hand and foot!” But he really didn’t mind helping him. The personal time, the sweetness. Anything that strengthened their relationship was a good thing in his book. The only part that concerned him was Sam overworking himself. He worried it might damage him.

He shushed the angel. “You know I love you.”

Cas flinched and shifted in his seat. “That’s the first time you’ve said that,” he stated quietly. He’d made it clear to Sam many times over how _he_ felt, both as a full angel and now as practically a human with the full range of emotions more readily available to him. But until this moment, the only person Sam said he loved was Dean, while the older hunter was unabashedly smitten with both of them. The two were close, and they encountered no issues with connecting physically, but theirs was definitely the weakest link in the chain.

“It’s true, though,” he leaned against Cas’s arm with no sign of leaving. “And I know I didn’t really say it in a timely manner, but yeah, I love you, Cas. And I love being with you, whether it’s going on these trips or just lazing around the house. I have for awhile.”

He felt overwhelmingly happy. While he and Sam spent a lot of quality time together, and while, yes, Cas had been able to reasonably guess Sam’s feelings, not saying it left a rift between them—that dissolved right before their eyes. He wasn’t sure exactly how he should respond. Sam had already heard every version of his devotion he could think of, and he’d said it each time hoping for but not expecting the type of response he received now. “I can’t even express how much I like having you here with me, Sam,” was what he finally got out.

“Mmm, well, you’ll get plenty of time to express it when I can walk again.”

Blushing, Cas turned his full attention back to the road.

***

The normal and reasonable thing to do would have been to call them. To ask. After all, he’d basically raised the two of them. If they had a way to heal people, they could certainly tell him. He probably wouldn’t even be angry, especially if it meant he’d be able to walk down the aisle.

But the back entrance had a wheelchair ramp, and anything could be going on in that house. So, he didn’t do the reasonable thing. Instead, he rolled on up to the door, picked the lock, and went inside.

The large room was almost entirely empty, save for a desk at the far end, some filing cabinets, and one long wooden bench set against all of the walls. There were no occupants here. At seven a.m., he thought they might even be asleep. But in the next room, he heard a noise that put that idea to bed.

“Yours is the cloth… and mine, mine is the hand that sews time.”

He thought it must be some sort of spell or ritual. He couldn’t identify the speaker. There was a gurgling sound and liquid pouring. Metal banging against ceramic or glass.

“His is the force that lies within.” The words were not spoken, but sung. And not forcefully. “Ours is the fire, oh, all the warmth we can find. He is a feather in the wind.”

It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

There were footsteps. “All of my love, all of my love, oh, all of my love… to you.”

Shit. It wasn’t a spell at all. It was Led Zeppelin. It was just a song. And the singer appeared at the opposite end of the room. It was Castiel, barefooted and wearing only grey sweatpants and a white sleeveless shirt. His hair was in disarray, and he actually looked tired. Cradled in both hands was a large mug filled with coffee. All at once, Bobby smelled it in the air. The creature didn’t look over or seem to notice the hunter’s presence. Instead, he strode slowly over to the desk, and started to sift through some papers. Bobby covered his mouth to avoid making a sound.

“All of my love,” he sang absently. “All of my…“ his voice trailed off. Even from across the room, Bobby could see the muscles in Cas’s form stiffen. He didn’t turn around, but the papers no longer kept his attention. Either through earthly senses or an angel’s, Bobby’d been found out.

Cas set down his coffee slowly. “We don’t open ‘til ten,” his voice wavered, and he actually sounded afraid. Very gradually, he turned around. When he lay eyes on the hunter, his expression changed radically to one of surprise. “Bobby?! Bobby Singer?” His gaze fell to the chair. “Oh shit, what happened?”

When Cas went to approach, Bobby reacted, producing a pistol from a hidden holster in the seat and pointing it at the angel. The way he spoke—it was like nothing had happened. Like the creature hadn’t turned into a psycho douchebag with a God complex. Like he’d just hit reset and was something closer to when they’d first met. But the hunter wasn’t fooled, even if Castiel had somehow managed to do just that to the Winchesters.

The fear returned, and he raised his hands in the air. “Whoa, hey,” he breathed. “You don’t have to do that, Bobby. You’re welcome here. I’m not gonna try and hurt you or anything. Things are different.”

“How’d you do it, huh? You ain’t got no right bein’ back in that boy’s life. What story did you give him? You’ll help all his hunter pals if he takes your feathered ass back?” he spat.

Cas blinked. He shook his head subtly, as though too scared to really move. “No! No, I-I apologized.” He gulped. “I don’t—I can’t—Look, I am so sorry about what happened. It wasn’t the real me, and I’d give anything to take it back. Please don’t kill me. I’m no threat to anyone now.”

Bobby snorted. “I ain’t gonna kill you, you piece of shit. Nahh, you’re gonna get me out of this damn chair, and then I’m gonna have a long talk with your boyfriend.”

He started to shake. “I-I—I _can’t_. I’m sorry. But if you just let me call—”

“Then, you’re not worth nothin’, are you?” He cocked the gun, and the sound made Cas feel sick to his stomach.

“Bobby?!” came a voice from the hallway. It was Dean. 

The short verbal exchange hadn’t been loud enough to alert anyone else to what was going on. But one upside to living in a house was that when someone made coffee, you could smell it even up two floors. And Cas’s coffee was pretty damn good. Dean could get up a little earlier now and then if it meant the nice shot of caffeine with good company. He’d made his way downstairs sleepily. When he found the kitchen angel-less, however, instinct and experience put him on the offensive.

He expected a demon, or worse, a different angel. But Bobby? Unannounced? Aiming a gun at one of the most important people in his life? And apparently injured bad enough to be unable to stand? Dean would’ve probably stood there speechless if Cas wasn’t in danger of getting shot. “Bobby, uh, put the gun down, okay?”

He glanced over at Dean, but didn’t drop the weapon. “You got one hell of a pest problem here, Dean,” he snarked. By the bags under his eyes, it looked like Bobby’d hardly slept in days.

“Yeah, got it under control,” he stepped into the room, glaring at the man. “So, you can put that down now. Don’t make me take it from you, man.”

After a moment to consider the situation, he let the gun drop to his lap. Just in case, he kept a loose grasp on it. Cas put his hands down and backed away.

“What’s goin’ on, Bobby?” he asked, knowing full well the old hunter was thinking the same about them.

“Had a little run-in with a family of Kitsune that I’d say coulda gone better. El had her nose to the ground about some first aid, and would you imagine, she found out about this little hunter emergency room. So, I figured I’d stop by. But it ain’t no medical miracle. It’s just a couple of fuckwits with an angel on a leash. But I don’t think you got this hellraiser under as much control as you think.”

Dean took a few more paces into the room, putting himself between Bobby and Cas. “Why’s that?”

“Jackass won’t heal me! You idjits are handin’ out healings like it’s nothing, but this bastard won’t put out,” he coughed and then raised an eyebrow at his own unfortunate word choice. “I mean, damnit. Putting up the guy for a few days in my house should at least be worth one leg.”

Dean had to work through a fog to try and understand. It was way too early for this shit. But eventually, he got the gist. “Hold on a sec, Bobby. He said he won’t heal you? Or can’t?”

“Can’t,” the angel answered, more than a little shaken up from the chat.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. If the angel couldn’t heal people, then how were they doing it?

At Cas’s side, Sam appeared. He surveyed the room and took it all in. He’d been getting ready for the day and was headed for breakfast when he heard the conversation. Out of sight by the stairs, he listened to at least half of it, ready to act if things got messy. Now, he made his presence known.

And the sight of him took Bobby by surprise. No familiar flannel or extra layers or wrinkles of any kind. He still wore jeans of course, but they were dark, new, and stain-free. Instead of sneakers, he wore a dressier pair of brown leather shoes. His black shirt was immaculately pressed—an aspect of his attire he insisted upon on the days they treated patients. In fact, he took that approach to every part of the business, especially book keeping and records. The only thing he was lax about was budgeting his own healing energy. At the children’s hospital, he’d wiped himself out completely a couple of days ago and still wasn’t fully recovered.

He waved. The newcomer’s condition seemed to have no affect on him, or at least none on the surface. “Umm, yeah, Cas is basically human, again, Bobby. He couldn’t heal you. I’m sure he would, though. It’s just not something he’s capable of anymore.”

“Then how the hell are you fixin’ people up?”

Sam smiled brightly. “Well, people come in, and I just—”

“A word, Sam?” Dean cut in. The look on his face was a stark contrast to his soulmate’s. He wasn’t happy at all that someone they knew as closely as Bobby had managed to infiltrate their fortress. They had a lot of secrets, and he wasn’t jumping at the chance to share them.

He practically dragged Sam into the dining room. Once there, “I think we should probably decide what we’re gonna tell him,” he shifted his weight nervously, “and what we don’t.”

“Dude, it’s Bobby!” Sam shrugged. “Why don’t we just tell him everything?”

Dean focused on an arbitrary point behind him. “ _Dude_ , that’s a terrible idea.”

“What? I don’t see why we can’t tell him. I mean, did you actually see him? He can’t walk! His spine is crushed, Dean. Once I heal him, he’ll be so happy, he won’t care about the rest.”

Whoa. That was a new one. On some level, Dean acknowledged that Sam could tell what ailment a person had if he starting working the healing mojo on that person. But he hadn’t even touched Bobby! Which meant, as Cas had anticipated, Sam was beginning to sense it at a distance. Dean might’ve felt uneasy about this revelation if he wasn’t terrified Bobby would find out about their less-than-typical romantic arrangement.

“Yeah? What are we gonna say, exactly? ‘Oh, hey, Bobby. I’m fucking my little brother, thought you should know, since you raised us.’ C’mon, man. You wanna have that conversation?”

But as soon as he said it, he was treated to watching Sam’s heart break. His eyes glassed up, and his brow furrowed. His lips pressed together to keep them from trembling. “Or, you could tell him you’re in love with me.” He made no attempt to hide the spite in his voice. His expression was angry, but a tear raced down his cheek.

Fuck.

Dean couldn’t take seeing him like that, no more than he could handle having Sam angry with him. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up and wiped the tear away with his thumb. In a hushed tone, “I just don’t think other people will understand, Sammy.” And he was horrified of what might happen when they didn’t.

“He already knows we’re soulmates. If anyone could—anyone human—I swear it’d be him, Dean.”

“And if he freaks?”

After a long pause, Sam sighed. “If I had my way, I’d tell everybody. Dean. About you and about Cas. I don’t think we’ve done anything wrong. And I definitely don’t think we should have to hide all the time. I know we probably do, or else people will lose it, but it sucks, and I think we can make an exception just this one time.” He sniffed. “I mean, do you really wanna keep lying to him?”

“Man, I don’t know. I sure as hell don’t wanna tell him, either.” There was fear on his face that Sam wasn’t accustomed to seeing. The idea of possibly being looked down upon or ostracized by Bobby had him more afraid, more utterly frightened, than any monster or fight ever could.

He kissed Dean gently, hoping the action would sooth him. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, Dean,” he whispered. And he wasn’t just saying that. He meant it. “You’re always strong and—it’s incredible. But, it’s okay to not be like that every second, you know? Sit this one out. I’ll talk to him. If I get the impression it’s too much for him to hear, then I just won’t tell him. And I’ll leave you alone about it. I promise.”

Dean stared at him for a long time, expression still very much tinged with fear, before he finally answered: “I trust you.”

The healer kissed him again, and Dean tried not to think for a few seconds. But that ended the moment Sam let him go. With a smile fused to his face, he left Dean in the dining room and rejoined Cas and Bobby.


	34. Dirty Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

The angel leaned against Sam’s desk sheepishly, less than thrilled at being left alone with the guy who’d just threatened to shoot him. He was relieved to see the younger hunter, though he tried not to show it too much.

Without hesitation, Sam glided across the room to Bobby, bent down a little, and put his hand on the side of the man’s neck.

“What the hell are you doin’, boy?”

But as the healing energy crept down Bobby’s spine, he understood. He didn’t know how it worked or how Sam was doing it, but it felt like when that other angel—Balthazar—had brought him back from the dead. Cold and warmth in uneasy harmony. And in a matter of seconds, sensation started to return to his legs. Moments later, he could move one foot. Then both of them.

Sam let go and backed away. Confused and astounded, Bobby looked at him, seeking an explanation. Under his scrutiny, Sam blushed a little. “You can get up, now. There wasn’t any atrophy or anything, and your back’s all fixed.” He scratched his own arm nervously.

Dean reluctantly materialized in the doorway. He could feel his heart race inside his chest.

Part of Bobby wasn’t sure he really believed it had worked. But, slowly, he rose to his feet. It was like he’d never been injured in the first place. He didn’t even feel stiff or sore from prolonged sitting. He stretched one leg out and kicked the wheelchair triumphantly. “I’ll be damned. All right, how’d you do it? You sign up for angel boot camp?”

Sam shot a glance at Dean in an attempt to reassure him. “Uh, sort of. Cas gave up the ability so he could be more like humans, and, well, I took it.”

Unable to stop focusing on his now-working legs, Bobby fidgeted in place. “So, you got angel in you, too? First your brother, now you’ve got it?”

He squinted in the man’s direction. “Yeah, kinda, and-uh, Dean has the wings again. Cas can do little stuff like seeing things we can’t, and I think,” he turned to the angel, “you can move small stuff, still, right?”

“Right,” Cas confirmed. “Door locks, silverware—that kind of stuff. But I don’t use it a lot.”

“And so hunters come here, and we help them get back on the job,” Sam explained, moving the conversation ahead quickly. “Some of them actually pay us.”

Charging had been Dean’s idea. Sam wanted to give it out for free, especially in the beginning before word got around, while Cas took the middle ground, suggesting they put out a jar for donations. But Dean insisted that Sam could offer freebies and discounts whenever he thought it was necessary, but there was no reason a bunch of hunters should get their bumps and bruises fixed without offering anything in return. Now that there were daily customers, sometimes more than a dozen across a given day, they were all very glad they decided to put a price tag on it.

The specific cost had to do with how serious the injury or problem was, and how much of Sam’s energy was needed to fix it. Gashes, bumps, and bruises could be as cheap as five bucks, while something like Bobby’s—were he not a friend they’d gladly heal for free—could run close to seventy-five dollars. Still, the service was a thousand times better than anything you could get at a hospital, and a whole lot cheaper. To that end, many customers gave them a little more as a tip.

Some customers got freebies automatically, however. Children, no matter what the problem was, would be helped without cost. Same deal with the rare case of pets. To some hunters, having a reliable dog was essential, not only for companionship but also as an early warning against ghosts, demons, and other dangers. And Sam didn’t think the animal chose to get hurt in the process, nor could he handle the idea that a cash-strapped hunter might let a pet suffer rather than pay for treatment. A surprising amount of owners offered payment out of gratitude, nonetheless, so no one really minded if Sam had to play veterinarian now and then.

Bobby tilted his head. “So, basically, what you’re sayin’ is that you’re retired? I mean, good on you boys if you can get out of the game and actually have a life after, but I’ll tell ya, it’d be the first time I’ve seen anyone your age get out without dyin’. Usually, it ain’t voluntary.”

Nodding, “Yeah, for the most part. We’ve taken a couple of small cases in the city. In a few months, I think Philly will be the least haunted place in the U.S.,” he laughed anxiously. “But you’re right. We let other people do the hunting, now, and we fix them so they can keep doing it. It’s not as exciting, but there’s no shortage of people who need our help.” And they could use the free time for other things.

The older man studied the others. There was a lot to wrap his brain around. Two of the best hunters he knew weren’t hunting anymore, and instead? They’d opened a small business based entirely on the mojo of an angel that, as far as Bobby was concerned, they shouldn’t even be talking to.

As he thought it through, one thing started to nag at him. He, to an extent, understood why Dean might take the wings back. Dean’d had them for a long time, and if the two were back together romantically—as it certainly seemed they were, since they were living together—then he probably wouldn’t have too much of a problem with it. But Sam? Even if the kid really enjoyed healing people, that was a little up close and personal to get with someone, wasn’t it?

Unless that wasn’t a problem for them. He shuddered. God damnit. “And you got no issue goin’ all angelic there, Sam?”

He blushed further. “No,” he chuckled. “Not at all.”

Oh hell. “No hard feelings between you two?” He didn’t center on Sam, but instead opted to stare down the angel and watch his reaction. Bobby had no confidence he would receive a direct answer from Sam, given how much had been kept from up until this point.

“None. We’re actually, uh, pretty close.”

Castiel gave a single slow nod of affirmation.

Bobby could use his imagination as to what that might mean, though he had no interest in trying. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you two,” he gestured toward both Sam and Dean with one hand, “are ‘pretty close,’ now, too?” he accused. It unfortunately made a lot of sense. Three people move in together, and two of the possible combinations are shacking up? It’d be damn unlikely if the third pair, who just so happened to be attached at their souls, wasn’t doing the same.

Unable to look at him, Dean turned his head away. It took everything not to flee. Sam winced. The damage was already done. Either through logic or just observing them closely, Bobby had figured it out before Sam even had a chance to tell him. Any control he had over the situation was gone. He could only soften the blow, and pray that they wouldn’t lose a relatively close friend and mentor forever.

Sam put on a soft expression and avoided sounding defensive. “Well, yeah, Bobby. We are. Kinda unavoidable, considering, you know, the whole soulmates thing.” He paused to let it sink in. “You’re not pissed, right? We should’ve told you sooner.” That last part was an attempt to switch the focus from the strangeness and socially uncomfortable aspect of the brothers’ relationship to the lesser infraction of keeping secrets. Sam hoped it might put things in a different light, at least enough to prevent a freak out.

But the hunter _did_ seem angry, along with at least slightly bewildered, and Sam doubted it was from being left out of the loop. After an agonizingly lengthy amount of time to think it over, however, the irritation slowly faded. “I—got nothin’ to say to that.”

Sam flinched. That wasn’t going to be good enough for Dean. “You’re the first person we’ve told.”

He paced around the center of the room, eyeing the abandoned wheelchair.  “It’s none of my damn business, way I see it. Or anybody else’s. So long as you’re happy and ain’t hurtin’ nobody. But please, I got the gist. Spare me the details.”

Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He covered his mouth to avoid making any sounds and kept his gaze pointed at the floor. Cas cracked a smile. Sam simply relaxed. “And the healing stuff?”

Bobby glared at him and motioned toward his own legs. “What’a you think?”

“I think Ellen’s gonna be really happy,” Sam replied, more than happy to be changing the subject.

He grunted. “She’s on my ass to remind you about that new location, by the way. She don’t want the church anymore. She wants it outside, because there’s no way that’s gonna go bad or nothin’. Do you know how hard it is to everything-proof a damn field?” After a short silence, “Shit, come to think of it: should prolly invite your significant other… other.” He took a few steps toward Cas. “It’s gonna raise Hell with the seatin’, but she changes it every couple’a days anyway.” Though he complained, the look on his face as he talked about his fiancé was the same thing members of the trio regularly gave each other. Adoration. Love. Even despite the more annoying characteristics and flaws. Hell, sometimes because of them.

Cas made no attempt to hide his happiness at being included, nor his surprise at being invited to the wedding of a man who might have just as easily put one or more bullets into him. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna cause any hardship for you.”

“I ain’t over that shit you pulled in Minnesota, boy, you better believe that, even if they are.” He looked around the room. “But it wouldn’t be right, and El’d kill me if she found out I knew about you all’s deal and didn’t invite one of the damn participants. So you better show up.”

“Then yeah, absolutely.” He bobbed his head. “I’d be honored. I’ve actually heard a lot about it.”

Dean finally managed to contribute to the conversation. “He and Sam picked out the gift. I didn’t know what the hell to get you.”

“Whiskey?”

“No way. Ellen would kill us,” Sam retorted. They skirted the line with a wine-making kit.

He scoffed. “Yeah, well, somebody better bring whiskey,” he muttered. “Anyway, I got a long trip back. Think I should tell her? Or just walk in?” Grinning, Bobby kicked the chair once more. “And what the hell am I gonna do with this thing?”

“Oh, we’ll take that,” Cas replied enthusiastically for the three of them. “We have a deal with a pawnshop downtown. Sam, he-uh—he saved a man’s wife. The owner of the store. She had a heart attack right in front of us, at the farmer’s market. Usually we’re pretty good at not drawing attention to fixing people, but she sat up immediately and looked straight at Sam. Every once in awhile we get one of those. They just _know_. Or they’re better at feeling it happen. And the husband was right there, and he put two and two together. Every time someone comes in with something like a wheelchair or crutches, if they don’t want them anymore, we sell them to him.”

“Well, all right. It’s yours.” He headed for the door. Stopping after he unlatched it, “I owe you one for this.”

Dean stepped into the room and glanced at Cas. He looked so happy. He often was these days, considering that he basically had everything he wanted. But this was something extra. The angel was prepared to stay behind for the wedding, even though he helped out with things like the gift and their tuxes. But being able to actually go—to be included and acknowledged—it just made Cas so incredibly cheerful.

“No, you don’t,” Dean turned to the man. “We’re good, dude. See you in a couple weeks.”

“Whatever you say. See ya.” Bobby shrugged and left without another word.

Sam stared at the door for a few moments, before turning on one heel. He wandered toward the kitchen for breakfast. With the stress done for, he was hungrier than ever. If the other two wanted to talk with him more about the issue, they were more than welcome to do it while he was stuffing his face.

Cas bit into his lip and smiled in Dean’s direction. “That went pretty well.”

“Yeah, I didn’t pass out.”

Cas pushed off of the desk and walked up to him. Laying both hands on Dean’s chest, he ran his nose up the hunter’s cheek. “Give yourself more credit, Dean. You did great.”

“Sam did a whole lot better.”

“He did,” Cas acknowledged, “and you should be proud of him. No way would you have told Bobby on your own, but it was the right thing to do, so he did it. He stepped up. It was courageous. Not just telling him but standing up to you and your stubbornness,” he kissed him, “and neither of you had to kill anything to bring that out in him. And it went fine, Dean. Someone knows about the three of us, and the world didn’t end. Let yourself be happy about it.”

He grabbed Cas by the waist. “Who says I’m not happy?”

“Are you?” He didn’t mean just about Bobby.

Dean’s face changed to indecisiveness. Eventually, “This isn’t exactly where I thought I’d end up. It’s just not what I pictured.”

Cas figured as much. “You thought you’d still be hunting, right?” He narrowed his eyes. “More women, but never getting close to any of them. Never getting close to anyone, not even Sam. Not really. Always reserved. Protected. Until something takes you out. Maybe sooner rather than later?”

He had no response to that. But his silence was confirmation enough.

“Well, that’s bullshit. It’s crap. What a terrible goal to have! You wanna die, Dean? You wanna go out in a blaze of glory, all while never connecting with anybody? No love to speak of? And worse yet, you wanna get Sam killed in the process?”

“No!” he protested. “You know I never wanna see him hurt. C’mon. Cas.”

“Of course not, but you would get him hurt all the same. What did you think would happen? You wanna hunt until you die, and you want him to hunt with you. Do the math. Either he dies before you do, dies at the same time, or dies after. But he won’t leave the life. Not without you.” Cas thought it best not to go easy on him, even though he wanted to. “So maybe your goal worked for awhile, but you shot really low. You didn’t think you could have this, or maybe you didn’t think you deserved it. Fuck, maybe you still think that. Though, I’ll tell you, you _do_ deserve to be happy and loved. Without a question. And this way is better, Dean. So much better.”

“I know.”

“So, what is it? You’re pissed you don’t get to play hero anymore, while Sam still does? There’s no reason that has to stop. You just have to be heroic in other ways.”

Dean sighed. “How?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you start working at a charity or mentor some kids or something. Or it could be something here. Just think about it for awhile. I’m sure you’ll come up with a few ideas. And if that’s what it takes to make you as happy as Sam and I are, then you won’t have any shortage of support.” He wrapped his arms around him and pressed his mouth into Dean’s collarbone.

“What if I’m just a killer? And I’m only happy doin’ that?”

Cas shook his head. “You’re not. You wish you were, because that would be easier, but you’re really not. You just went through the motions. But I’ve met a truckload of killers, and I’m sorry, you’re not like them. You feel. You care. You tear up at power ballads. You’re emotionally invested in Spanish telenovelas. I think you even crave this life on some level. Wish you had a purpose other than being a hunter. Wish you’d been given a choice. But it’s pretty much all you’ve ever known, so you don’t want to give it up. And, more importantly, you don’t know how. And you don’t think there’s anything left of who you are if you do.” He pulled Dean’s shirt down a little to kiss skin. “But do you really think I’m in love with the hunter? Do you think Sam is?”

It was scary how accurate his speech was, and how much it hit home. “I’ll see if I can think of somethin’ to keep busy.”

They kissed. Slow. Purposeful. Cas didn’t come up for air until he was certain Dean’s mood had improved. “Want some coffee? It should still be warm. The morning rush will be here soon.”

“Should probably get a shower, then.” Dean was forbidden from the main floor during business hours until he at least washed up and put on real clothes. Sam didn’t care if it was anything nice, but he refused to let Dean look like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed.

Mischief flashed on Cas’s face. “Alone?”

Never. He grinned and moved toward the stairs. “Hurry up.”

The angel didn’t need to be told twice.


	35. Working Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

“You shoulda let me hit ‘im,” Dean repeated as they turned onto their block. “Fucking asshole woulda known exactly what ‘one of those’ can do. I mean, what the hell did he even mean by that? Like I couldn’t fucking take him?! I swear, I’da broke his jaw, man. I’d fucking break his face.”

“I know you would have, which is exactly why I stopped you,” Cas said calmly, working his way through a giant buttered pretzel, one of the few remaining spoils from the neighborhood street fair. “Maybe you could’ve taken them all, but firefighters hang out with cops, don’t they? Even if you didn’t get arrested, do you want them asking questions, snooping around our place? Our IDs are pretty solid, but they aren’t perfect. And we’re not doing what we _say_ we’re doing on paper.”

 _Trinity Health and Rejuvenation_ —which is what the fancy wooden sign they hung on the side of the house read—only barely held up to inspection. They did enough to make it seem legitimate to a casual outside observer, but someone actively investigating them would find the holes fairly quickly.

The trio bought yoga mats, all the new agey items they could get a hold of easily, and fancy business cards. Each were “employees,” with Sam being a nutritionist and life coach, Dean a yoga instructor, and Cas a spiritual adviser, with a specialization in meditation. Cas had picked out the titles, applying a little humor to the choices. But none of them actually knew how to do those things, and if any non-hunter inquired about their contrived services, the response was always that they had too many clients to accept any more.

They decorated the main room with much of the stuff and modified their financial records to make the real paying customers look like clients, down to keeping files on them with code words. For instance, if a hunter who favored killing werewolves often came in with broken bones, that person’s file, which used whatever name the hunter gave, would read that his or her profession was _dog walking_ and that person might need more calcium in his or her diet.

While the last aspect was kept meticulously neat and consistent by Sam and Cas, and Dean even helped out with keeping track of and lying about the money a bit, the steady stream of people didn’t really look like the type to go for holistic treatments and the power of positive thinking. They looked like battle hardened alcoholics. Rough around the edges and carrying not-quite-legal weapons. For the most part, they were not people you would want to meet in a dark alley.

And nearly every one of them paid in cash. Since their credit cards were usually fraudulent, the three insisted. A business that only processed fake cards would get them found out in no time. But a cash-only business of this type could be seen as suspicious, too. So, they had to be careful, and they couldn’t afford any negative attention.

Dean stole a chunk of Cas’s pretzel out of revenge. Once again, the house provided a problem that being off the grid would have prevented. “I just wanted a damn shot at it, Cas.”

The local fire company had been giving out brochures and letting fairgoers test their physical prowess by carrying a heavy water hose through an obstacle course. But when they’d approached, one of the men made a crack about how he didn’t think Dean could hack it, and that he was just trying to show off for his boyfriend. Which, of course, didn’t go over well. Cas had to drag him away, as much for their own security as for the firefighters’ safety.

“It’s not like I don’t have the damn experience or skill set,” Dean continued. “If you can pull kids out of a witch’s hideout, you can pull kids out of a fire. Hell, technically, I’ve already done that with Sam. Twice! And I was only four the first time! It’s like I’m a natural.”

“And I bet you’d look really hot in that uniform,” the angel pointed out, trying not to smile at the idea, “but do you really wanna work with a bunch of douchebags? I mean, I’m sure not all firefighters are like that, but even if it’s only a few of them, you’re gonna hear shit like that all the time, either directed at you or just in general.” He swiped what was left of Dean’s soda in retaliation and downed it. “And I don’t think me and Sam would be invited to the chili cook-offs and get-togethers.”

He’d probably also have to explain why he lived with two men, how exactly he knew them, and what those men did for a living. Not to mention his past. He could be secretive about some of it, but things have a tendency to get discovered when you interact with other people, he thought, even if you’re very careful. “You’re probably right.”

Cas planted a kiss by his ear. “Maybe you could be an EMT or something. That’s got a uniform, too, and you’d still be helping people.”

“No running into burning buildings, though,” he pointed out begrudgingly.

The angel wasn’t necessarily upset about that. Firefighting was less dangerous than hunting, but there would be plenty of hazards. “Hah, no. But I think they get to run red lights.”

Dean groaned.

Cas rolled his eyes. “We’ll find something else.”

“No. No, it’s—it’s my head,” he clutched at his brow as his knees gave out from under him, and he dropped to the sidewalk. “Fuck! Something’s wrong. Oh God. Something’s seriously wrong, man!”

Rushing to his side, the angel threw one arm over him. “Where exactly does it hurt? Do you think you could walk? We’re only three doors down. If not, I can go get him.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah, Sam. Lemme go get Sam. Whatever’s wrong, he can fix it.” Cas stood abruptly. He didn’t want to leave Dean, but if he was having an aneurism or a stroke or something, help was nearby.

“No, it’s—no.” Every word had to be forced through what felt like the worst headache of his life. He thought with cruel amusement that he’d almost welcome the ones he used to get with Cas’s wings if it meant he could kill this one. “It’s—ahh fuck—it’s Sam. Something’s wrong—with Sam.”  He could feel a tug, like someone shoved a grappling hook between his eyes and was trying to pull him toward the house.

Cas slanted his head to one side. “What?” Dean never showed any sign of being able to connect with Sam psychically, despite rumors that some soulmates could do just that. Sure, they finished each others’ sentences all the time, but that was a far cry from this.

“Go,” he cried. “Please! Go help him!”

He didn’t need any further direction. Spinning on his heel, Cas sprinted the remaining distance, scaled the stairs, and hit the door with a thud. His hand trembled as he selected the right key and worked it into the lock. Bursting inside, it took a moment to find Sam. The place was packed to the brim, with every available seat occupied by hunters in need and a few standing, too. Upon Bobby’s excited return home, he’d made a few calls, and now practically every hunter in the U.S. knew about the great service the trio provided.

In the group’s midst, Sam sat perched on a chair. He cradled a young woman’s head in one hand, and his eyes were closed. He didn’t turn or even flinch. Cas strode in quickly but tried not to alarm the hunters. Most if not all of them had no idea what he was, or had been, and he didn’t want to trigger their curiosities.

As he got closer, he could tell there really was something terribly wrong. Sam was usually quite animated when he healed. He talked to the people there and tried to keep them distracted from the strangeness. These hunters killed anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Even though they arrived willingly, and knew to some extent that this was not a natural gift of Sam’s, it was smart to make it as easy for them as possible. But he didn’t speak or even really move at first. When he finished healing the girl, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, his hand slid off of her face.

He smiled weakly. “Both ears should be fine now.”

She thanked him and stood up. Before another patient could move into place, Cas slipped in front of him. To his horror, a dull golden glow could easily be seen in Sam’s pupils, and he didn’t need to use angel sight to witness it. “What have you done?”

“Hey, Cas.” He sounded drunk.

Taking hold of Sam forcefully, he pressed his fingers into the healer’s check and pried one eye open further to take a better look inside. Letting go, “You stupid fuck.” He shook him. “Please tell me you at least didn’t know! You can’t—you can’t give that energy away. Damnit, you could die, Sam.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

Cas could feel rage building up inside him, but he attempted to keep it in check. “Sam can’t heal any more people today,” he told the room. “He’s sick. I apologize, but you will have to leave.”

“That’s not true,” Sam protested.

“Yes, it is,” he spoke loudly. “I’m sorry if you came a long way, but he can’t help anyone right now. And he may not be well again for some time.” As the people started to file out, he turned his full attention back to Sam. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Woozy and more than a little out of it, Sam chuckled. “What? Look, I thought I’d run out of juice, but I found some more, so it’s cool, dude. Bring them back.”

“You _found_ some more?! You only have two kinds of psychic energy in you, you reckless ass. The power I gave you, and your own soul. You’re handing out your soul, Sam. And can you take a wild guess as to what happens when you run out? You fucking die. You die, and you might drag your soulmate down with you. He’s writhing on the pavement outside.”

Cas took a look inside him with his extra sight to confirm, and found it even more grim than he feared.

Souls generated a cocoon of energy that enveloped a powerful but fragile core. Nearly all of Sam’s protective cushion had vanished, and what remained was raw and weak.

Some of the healer’s clarity returned as a sudden bout of worry overtook him. “Is my brother gonna be okay?” The question reminded Cas of something one of his nieces might say, and it had the same tone and approach.

“Yeah, Sam.” Probably. Hopefully. Maybe. “But I think you’re in real trouble right now. Dean is hurting because you’re all out of power. I’m not sure, but I think the connection you share with him is trying to take Dean’s energy and use it to refill what you’ve lost. Like a blood transfusion. But it’s not meant for that. And if you exhaust any more of your energy, it might not even matter. You’ll die. And you’re in danger of dying already.”

“Huh. It felt different. Warmer.” His whole body started to shake. “But I didn’t know what it was. When it worked, I just—I didn’t—” His eyes rolled up into his head, and he slumped over.

Cas caught him before he could fall off the chair. He pulled him down from it slowly. Holding him close on the floor, his mind raced. What could he do? Sam might come out of it on his own, slowly recovering as his soul regenerated the energy it needed. Or, he might keep slipping until there was no saving him. He thought about perhaps trying to coax a little of Dean’s excess power into Sam—but that could prove devastating for all involved. Though their souls were more similar to each other than any other two humans Cas had ever seen, they were still different. More complementary than identical. It might be like giving someone the wrong blood type.

And it would be excruciating and possibly life-threatening for Dean.

He resolved not to even present it as an option. Dean would jump at the chance to sacrifice himself if it meant saving his Sammy. It was part of his personality, and it was written into his whole being. But Cas wasn’t willing to take the risk. Even if it’s entirely what Dean would want. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing one of them, let alone a chance at both.

Dean stumbled in moments later. When he saw Sam unconscious, he looked like he might get sick or faint. “Sammy?! Oh God. What happened?”

Tucking some of Sam’s hair behind one of his ears, Cas didn’t look up from his charge for more than a few seconds at a time. “He tapped into the wrong energy by accident.” Because he overworked himself, like he always did, the angel added silently. Sam didn’t seem to care if he wore himself out to the point of being in danger of dying. And he didn’t care that Cas found himself anxious and sick over it on more than one occasion. Nevermind the near heart attack he was having now.

It infuriated him. Cas wanted nothing more than to keep both of them alive and safe and happy.

Without even knowing how bad it was, Dean was already a mess. He hardly seemed able to remain upright, and when he spoke, the words sputtered out of him. “Tell me you can fix it.”

“I dunno.” He looked deep into Sam, hoping to monitor the amount of energy he had left. If it was still going down, maybe something drastic was in order, after all.

He slammed the door closed. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Cas felt helpless. “It’s really bad, Dean.”

Dean kneeled at the angel’s side. From a brief glance, Cas could see him panicking. His eyes darted over the unconscious healer. Cas took up one of the ex-hunter’s hands and pressed it against Sam’s.

“Let him know you’re here,” he directed. “That should—oh! Oh, thank God.” Bit by bit, the light of Sam’s soul brightened. It was almost too subtle to notice. He watched a moment longer to be certain. “I think, with some time to rest, he’ll recover.”

Dean closed his eyes in an attempt to prevent him from seeing how upset he was.

Patting the older Winchester’s back reassuringly, Cas kept his inner sight on the weak energy, ensuring it didn’t falter. After a few minutes, “I don’t know how much we should move him. Want to bring some bedding down here?”

“Huh?” He didn’t move—too focused on the problem at hand, on the possibility of losing his other half.

“I need to stay here and watch him to make sure he keeps getting better. Could you go get some blankets and maybe a mattress?” he reiterated slowly. “That would help Sam a lot, Dean.”

He got up as much to keep from losing it as to help. He really didn’t want to leave Sam, even with the only other person he really cared for. Backing up, he turned and raced up to the second floor. The smaller guest bedroom mattress slid down the stairs and hit the hallway wall. Moments later, he galloped down, carrying two blankets and as many pillows as he could hold.

They set up the items on the floor about a foot away. Without letting him go, Cas helped move him onto the makeshift bed. He didn’t leave Sam’s side for hours—and even then, just for a moment to stand and stretch—and Dean stayed even longer.

***

It was a full day before Sam regained consciousness, and two more before he was able to hold onto it without conking out again. Cas spent most of the time trying to keep Sam hydrated. He didn’t tolerate solid food during those first days, and when awake, needed help with everything.

The healer looked so pale and weak. The only color on his face was red around his eyes and between the cracks on his lips. His facial hair grew unabated, and it aged him. His spirits were high considering his situation—constant pain, retching, chronic nose bleeds, and utter dependence on others. The latter was in the running for his least favorite thing in the world. He valued not having to rely on anyone, but always ended up having to. Nonetheless, he tried to stay calm and collected whenever possible during his recovery and expressly avoided taking his frustrations out on his caretakers.

By the one-week mark, more of himself returned, and they moved him upstairs to the guest bedroom. Dean brought in the TV from the den, and he sat with him watching mindless shows, never more than a foot away except when necessity forbid it. Cas ran all the errands, cooked, and helped with anything else needed. Chicken soup became a regular menu item, as did dry toast. But Sam was grateful, regardless, and Cas tried to mix it up with slightly different seasoning and vegetables.

Whenever possible, Cas spent as much time with them as he could, and he even slept in a chair in the corner. He may not have shared a soul-to-soul connection to either of them, but his love and adoration and concern felt just as tangible.

Getting to the wedding proved a challenge. Dean offered to ferry them to Bobby’s via angelic means, but he’d only attempted such a large distance once before—when they’d been stranded in London—and Sam refused. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, just because he’d messed up. Flying normally was out, too, given Dean’s tremendous fear of planes. Instead, they decided to make a slow roadtrip there, stopping whenever Sam needed.

Sam gave up his usual shotgun seat in favor of the back, where he could stretch out, sleep more comfortably surrounded by pillows, and try to avoid puking. Cas kept watch and spoke quietly. The hint of angel still left in his voice—the calmness that didn’t come from personality but from understanding the universe—soothed and comforted Sam more than the OTC painkillers and blankets. It worked even better than being in Dean’s car, which by now was essentially a giant metal hug on wheels to him.

For the first day of driving, his soulmate checked on him at every single red light or slow down in traffic, and half the stop signs, too. Occasionally, he reached back and just touched his arm. Sam had taken hits before, but not very many since they’d gotten together, and only with this one did Dean actually feel it happening. Nothing could’ve stopped his worrying. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Sam was up and running at full speed again.

That night, they settled into a large hotel—not motel—room in Ohio. Springing the extra cash for a bed manufactured this decade was more than worth it. And, for the first time since getting sick, Sam even got to sleep for part of the night with his travel companions. He dosed off on Cas’s stomach, practically wrapped around him. Dean was on the other side of the angel, with his hand tucked into the collar of Sam’s shirt.

It was cut short around one a.m., though, when he awoke feeling nauseous and, with some difficulty, stumbled to the bathroom. Cas helped him back into bed after, and both he and Dean decided to give Sam more room.

They took it slow the next morning. Sam wanted to get on the road, but both of them insisted he have breakfast. Toast again. But with a twist: miniscule amounts of grape jelly and weak tea instead of ginger ale. “Progress!” he proclaimed as Cas offered up the meal.

For the first time in ages, all he wanted was greasy bacon and eggs dripping with melted butter, coffee with tons of sugar, donuts in every variety imaginable, French fries covered in liquefied cheese—anything bad for him. Being unable to have it and low on calorie intake brought this out in him. But he knew that if he even ate this meager breakfast too fast, he’d end up dating the toilet all morning. So, he begrudgingly took small bites and sipped the tea until everything was gone. He stared at the plate for a long time, downtrodden.

“Still hungry, huh?” Cas asked, taking the plate and cup from him. “That’s actually good, though it probably doesn’t feel like it.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

The color drained from Dean’s face. “ _Funny_? You almost died!”

“No, not that, at all,” he elaborated. “I mean, you know, being sick and generally miserable. I’ll never be sick for real, right? No colds or anything. Ever again. But the thing that’s preventing that from happening made me sick now. That’s like if I caught a bug from antibiotics.”

Dean snorted, and started packing their things. He didn’t think any part of this was funny. Though Cas assured him that Sam knew how to avoid the mistake now, he had to battle a very strong urge to ask Sam to stop healing people altogether. There was no way he could—it would break Sam’s heart—but he still wanted to, and that brought on guilt to boot. And at the same time, he felt completely useless with Sam hurt. Like he’d failed. If he’d just been there, maybe he could’ve seen the warning signs or something. Even with two people technically looking out for Sam now, and even though he was an adult, and their relationship had changed, Dean still felt compelled to try and protect him at every turn.

And apparently, he was terrible at it. Sam’d been killed by an angel, and it took one to bring him back. Now, he’d Chernobyled himself, and the only person who really knew how to look after him was Cas. But it didn’t seem very difficult. Dean could make soup, too, couldn’t he? Maybe not from scratch, but he could make some. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t even volunteered. Cas did fine with it all, and Dean? Well, he could hardly do anything. Frozen in place and indecisive—and without purpose, as well—he wasn’t worth much to anyone.

Without realizing it, he’d mouthed some of that train of thought silently as he worked, and the other two caught on immediately. He couldn’t even brood successfully. Pathetic.

They both waved him over, and he reluctantly sauntered in their direction. When he got there, however, Sam pulled him down to his level for a kiss. It was surprisingly forceful, given the younger man’s physical state, to the point that Dean had to grab the arms of the chair in which Sam was seated to keep from tumbling over.

“You’re beating yourself up, again, right?” he surmised, studying his face. “Cut it out. This isn’t your fault, you know. Not everything’s your fault. You gotta stop feeling so guilty all the time, Dean!”

He shrugged. “I coulda done more.”

“Dude, what more could you have done? You saved my ass,” Sam’s voice was steady and confident, though a little scratchy from getting sick a few times a day. “I’m told,” he glanced at Cas for a moment, “that if I hadn’t stopped when I did, I woulda been done for. But I’m still here, Dean, because you took having a headache for there being something wrong with me. You figured it out, and you made sure I got help. Do you know how awesome that is?”

“I didn’t do anything, Sammy.”

He shook his head. “Like hell. Every day, you look out for me. I would literally be dead without you being there, Dean. And not just this time. On hunts, too. C’mon, you know that.” When his soulmate opened his mouth to object, he didn’t give him the chance. “Look, I’m too tired and hungry to argue with you. Just accept that I idolize the hell out of you and that I love you, and shut up.”

Dean turned away from him, almost running into Cas in the process. He’d forgotten anyone else was in the room. The angel smiled and draped one arm over each of them. He spun Dean back around. Embracing them both, “You two. God. I swear, even when you’re fighting, it’s just an excuse to talk to each other more, to get closer. It would be sweet if it didn’t break my heart.” He sighed. “We gotta get through two states today to stay on schedule. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered for both of them. Unless Cas was planning on making more toast, he was as ready as he could hope to be.


	36. Devils & Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

“I dunno. I kinda like it. It’s cute,” Cas insisted from behind him. His thumb ran in zigzags across Sam’s newfound facial hair. When he was healthy, the healer kept himself immaculately clean-shaven. But he didn’t look too bad scruffy.

After a few hours on the road, Sam felt surprisingly better—enough for a little attention from the angel. At a deserted intersection, Cas joined him in the back and took a seat sideways behind him. The closeness, a rarity since he’d gotten sick, was not only appreciated but vital. He missed it so much. From both of them. But the Impala couldn’t drive itself, and Dean wasn’t willing to pass the reigns to Cas, simply so he could work in some late morning cuddling.

Cas’s chin rested on his shoulder. Though his free arm wrapped around Sam’s abdomen, he kept it as loose as possible so as not to cause any unnecessary stress on his stomach. Sam held onto it with both hands and squeezed whenever a particularly sharp pain radiated through him. Having him there made the ride a hundred times easier.

And he spent every second of this leg of the trip trying to keep Sam’s mind off of it, all while including Dean whenever possible. “Looking like you went a few rounds with some bad guys, you’re totally pulling off the gruff action hero look,” he pointed out. “ _Die Hard with a Lot More Hair_.”

“Dude, we can tape a gun to your back!” Dean added from behind the wheel.

“No! This is a sequel.” Cas corrected. “Dump trucks full of gold, driving a cab through Central Park, and bigger explosions.”

Sam moved his head a few inches so it could rest against Cas’s. “I don’t think McClane ever felt like this.”

“Oh, probably not, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart_? Really? Dean hadn’t come up with any pet names for either of them—except maybe “Sammy,” but he’d used that long before they were together—and the other two didn’t as a rule use any, either. Maybe Sam being in ill health brought this out in Cas, and it certainly was a common feature in more typical relationships, but it still came as a surprise to Dean.

He hoped they wouldn’t start expecting him to do cutesy stuff like that. He could handle romance fine, and sex much more than fine, but that amount of fluff felt like a bit too much.

Sam, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. Cas actually used that word a lot—on their patients. Especially the little ones. Same with his two nieces, if the healer remembered correctly. Anyone who was weak or just in need of comfort got a “sweetheart.” And, anyway, it was the type of romantic normalcy Sam appreciated. He silently wished Cas might continue to use it after he was better. Even if it was just something the two of them shared. He welcomed it.

They pulled into a gas station near the border between Indiana and Illinois. Dean got out to fill up the tank. “Think they got something I could eat in there? Crackers? Donuts? Anything?!” Sam motioned with his head toward the small convenience store. “I’m dying, Cas.”

The angel kissed him on the cheek. “You’re not dying!” Another kiss. “But I’ll check.”

It took some maneuvering to untangle himself from Sam, but eventually he stumbled out of the muscle car and made his way to the store. A bell on the glass and metal door signaled his arrival, but the girl behind the counter barely looked up at him. Inside, he headed straight for the snack aisle and surveyed the options. Sugary cakes with cream fillings and icing were certainly out, as was every type of candy, the neon orange chips, the energy bars, and all three kinds of the cereal in stock.

But after a few moments of searching, he found a box of buttery crackers. As an afterthought, he grabbed a plastic jar of off-brand peanut butter. Sam hadn’t been getting much protein, and he’d probably appreciate something with some taste. With the stuff in hand, he walked over to one of the refrigerated coolers and selected some clear soda. He paid in cash and left.

On his way back, he accidentally ran into another patron. He apologized, but a hand grabbed his arm, knocking the groceries to the dirt. “Buddy, that’s not a great idea, I—” But this was no stranger.

The figure grinned. “Hi there, Cassie. How you been?”

Stunned, his mouth moved but no words came out. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Finally, he managed a single word: “Crowley.” He looked past the creature to the Winchesters, but they were occupying themselves. Dean was facing away, bent over the passenger side seat, and Sam was trying his best to kiss him passionately without getting dizzy.

“They can’t see me, anyway, love,” the demon explained. “One of the many perks of my position.”

“What do you want? I have nothing to say to you.” He backed up, his sneaker hitting the box of crackers.

His eyes walked all over him. “Have you forgotten our arrangement? Just because your feathered friend cut our session short, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you off the hook that easily.”

Cas looked around to make sure no one would see him talking to thin air. In a low voice, “I don’t have a soul for you to collect on, and I have no power for you to use. I have nothing of value to offer, nor would I, and no debt to you. I’m happy here, with them. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Though his expression didn’t change, Crowley’s upper lip twitched ever so slightly, a subtle hint at the rage that brewed beneath. “Right. Because they’ll live forever and so will you, in that little house in, what, Pennsylvania? Nevermind how utterly drab that is! But it’s a bit unrealistic, isn’t it? You’ve noticed that by now, haven’t you, love? They’ll die and rise up and leave poor little Castiel in the dust. And I can’t help but wonder how long it will take you to come calling again.”

“But I’ve run out of patience,” he continued, striding closer. “And quite frankly, I’m a bit offended that you think going without your batteries would make a difference. Do you really believe I bend over backwards for just anyone? Or that I have an under-abundance of power? Not a chance. And, deary, when I want something, I get it.” He grabbed Cas by his shirt. “In fact, I just take it. Sorry to cut your holiday short, but you’re coming with me. Right now.”

The angel had no intention of going with him, or even considering it. Not this time. What Sam and Dean provided—real love and acceptance and forgiveness—this creature couldn’t even dream of. He didn’t even understand the concepts as far as Cas could tell, and what exactly did he think would happen? Cas would just fall for him eventually? In captivity? Or didn’t he care?

He gripped Crowley’s arm forcefully and shoved a bit of his remaining power into it. Just enough to knock him into this dimension completely so he could be seen. Cas didn’t have any more juice than that, and the demon was infinitely more powerful, but at least now he couldn’t kidnap him without someone seeing.

And a gun blast signaled that someone did. It was Dean. He swung his legs out of the Chevy, a shotgun in hand. Pointing it square at the demon, “You just don’t quit, do ya?”

“I’ve just come for what’s mine. I’m sure you understand. I’ll be out of your pretty hair in a jiff.”

“Yeah, no,” Dean approached slowly. “Your deal didn’t work, remember?”

He grinned. “Oh! Our boy didn’t tell you? We struck up a whole other understanding while you and bigfoot were on your honeymoon. Where you see a maid to cook and clean for you, I see a ruler. Castiel and I, well, we have a sort of—magnetic attraction. Greatness seeks out other greatness, yeah? So, like it or not, he’s with me. Just like he planned to before we were interrupted. Rather rudely, I’d say.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, and I’ll never love you, Crowley,” he vowed, though his voice didn’t carry any confidence that he or anyone else could stop the King of Hell from taking him away. Wrenching his shirt free from Crowley’s grasp, he switched all of his focus to the older Winchester. “I couldn’t—I didn’t want to be alone,” he tried to rationalize. “I was desperate. Terrified. But whatever happens, Dean, I know it probably won’t make up for it, but I’m so sorry.”

Sam appeared, feeble and unsteady on his feet, from the back of the car. Neither Cas nor Dean had told him anything about the first visit with the demon, let alone the second. He looked hurt and angry that they’d kept it from him, and rightfully so. Cas didn’t know what to say. With a very real chance of never seeing either of them again, and worse yet that they might hate him, he couldn’t find the strength for even a single additional word. What more could he add? Would they even believe an “I love you,” knowing what he’d done? What he would have done if Balthazar hadn’t stopped him?

“Cas and this chubby little glorified shoulder devil have some history,” Dean explained very slowly. “And it doesn’t mean anything.” His eyes found their way to Cas, “Because he doesn’t want to see this fucker anymore. Because he likes his life with us. Even if it’s more boring than Hell. Right, Cas?”

“Yeah,” he could feel his whole body quake. “But I don’t think you’re boring. And I never have.”

He smiled slightly off to one side. “So, what we’re gonna do is waste this asshole, put that shit behind us, and get to Bobby and Ellen’s wedding on time.”

Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s input. He knew Sam was probably still upset, and he didn’t want that. But, with the dick from down under threatening to give their angel a one-way ticket to Hell, none of them could afford a lengthy discussion.

“You haven’t got anything in that arsenal of yours that could do any damage,” Crowley retorted. “I mean, look at yourself. Salt? Really?”

The gun lowered, and Dean took a long look at it. “Oh, you know, you’re right. This thing’s useless.” He tossed it on the ground. But a moment later, he reached for a gun at his side—the old pistol he used to teach Cas how to shoot. Pointing it, he shot the demon square in the chest.

To everyone’s surprise, Crowley flew off of his feet and crashed to the ground. He clutched at the wound, coughing. “What the fuck is that, then?!”

Happy to see that it actually worked, Dean didn’t hesitate. Advancing, he emptied the whole gun into him and then started reloading it. “Man, the great thing about making your own bullets is you can pack them with a small amount of whatever the hell you want if you know how. And I’ve had a lot of free time lately.”

Crowley actually looked in pain. From the open wounds, steam rose up. Dean watched him squirm. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic bottle filled with transparent liquid. He opened it and poured some on the demon, aiming for where he’d been shot. More steam rose up, and Crowley groaned loudly through gritted teeth.

“Holy water?!” Sam’s astonishment was clear. “You put holy water… in bullets?”

Dean winked at him. “I made a bunch of solid iron ones, too. We’re not using the basement for anything, and I ran out of furniture to make.” If he didn’t keep busy in that house, he thought for sure he’d go crazy.

Once he processed the information, Cas regained some of his composure. “How many did you make?”

“A whole box,” he laughed. “Bet it’s still burnin’, isn’t it?” he kicked Crowley in the side. The demon rolled over and tried to stand, but Dean put three more bullets into his back. “Don’t get up. We’ll call you a ride home.”

Sam limped over to Dean’s side and looked down at the creature. “Exorcizamus te… omnis immundus spiritus,” he began the Latin for an exorcism, “omnis satanica potestas… omnis incursio, uh, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…”

Black smoke appeared at Crowley’s lips, but he sucked it back in. Stumbling to his feet, he looked only at Cas. “You’ll die alone. Why on this miserable Earth would you want that?”

“I don’t,” he replied without needing to search for an answer. “But I want my life to mean something. And it does. Only with mortality, and only with them, can I have that.”

He spit blood on the ground. “You’ll think differently when you’re alone again, love. But I won’t be there. Not this time. You’ll have nothing but yourself. I couldn’t invent a better Hell for you to burn in.” He straightened his back, gave Cas one last look—filled with longing and pain—and then disappeared.

The angel didn’t dwell on the implications of what was said. He already understood that he could easily receive that kind of fate if he outlived them, but he was willing to take it on so long as he could have them for what remained of his mortal lifetime. Somberly, he collected the fallen food items and placed them in the car. Without a word, he turned around and headed back toward the store.

“Cas? Where the hell are you goin’? The cops are gonna be here soon, dude,” Dean hazarded.

“That attendant saw everything. What we look like, the car, the weapons, everything. We can’t just disappear anymore, so we have to cover our tracks.”

Sam leaned against to car to steady himself. “There’s nothing we can do about that. What are you gonna do? Kill her?” The longer they stayed, the bigger the chance they might just be arrested on the spot, and then it wouldn’t matter if there was a chance they were tracked down later.

“What?! No, of course not. I’m just gonna talk to her.”

He heard Dean yell “Just hurry!” as he made his way back inside. He found the woman hiding behind the counter, clutching a letter opener and looking horrified. When she saw him, she pressed herself as far back as she could go, knocking cartons of cigarettes onto the floor. He threw up his hands and kept a reasonable distance.

“The police are coming,” she warned, her voice fearful. “Stay back!”

“I know,” he shot a glance out the front window to make sure they weren’t already here. “I’m not going to hurt you, miss. We’re gonna leave in a moment, but I wanted to ask you first what you saw.”

“Why? So you can shoot me like that guy?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a gun, and no. I’m asking because if you saw him appear out of nothing and vanish, and you plan to mention that, the police might not believe you.”

She blinked. “That didn’t happen.”

“No? Well, I coulda sworn it did. Huh. And you didn’t see him get shot nine times only to stand up and keep talking?”

Slowly, she rose to her feet. “No, that I saw. But he could’ve been wearing a vest.”

Cas had a hunch she’d seen the whole thing, but he could still work with this. “There’s a whole lot of blood out there…”

“You want me to lie?” she sniffed.

He was silently proud she caught on so fast. “Yes, ma’am. If you could. This might be difficult to understand, but that guy was not quite what he looked like, and, well, he’s not a good man. In fact, he’s very bad. We kinda fight people like him, and we could get in a lot of trouble, even though what we’re doing is good. And since I can guarantee he’s not dead, I can’t promise that you won’t be in danger if he finds out you told the police about him. I want to make sure you’ll be all right when we leave here.”

The real chances that Crowley would be back were slim to none. He couldn’t care less, as far as Cas could tell, if normal people knew he existed. Along with the power he held, all the demon cared about was winning Cas over.

Her eyes opened wide until they were practically circles. “W-what should I say?”

Smiling, he quickly came up with the type of story cops on his favorite TV shows might buy. “People you didn’t recognize pulled up in a red compact, got out, and started arguing. One of them fired a gun, which is when you hid and called the police. They didn’t pay, and when you went to look, everyone was gone. You didn’t see how many there were, nor did you see the license plate. You’re not sure how many times the gun went off. The only thing you remember is hearing the shots and the car’s especially loud muffler. Think you can handle that?”

That would have every state cop out looking for a very specific fictional vehicle. Even if they saw the Impala and its three occupants, they wouldn’t look twice, except maybe out of admiration at how sweet the vehicle was.

When she nodded, “If they ask any questions you don’t know how to answer, just tell them that it happened too fast, and you’re not sure.” He walked to the door, but halted, feeling just a little guilty. “Thanks for helping us.”

Back at the car, he got in the passenger side and quietly waited for Dean to put them in motion.

He raised an eyebrow at the angel. “What happened?”

“She’s going to lie to the cops.”

Sam pulled himself between the two front seats enough to look at him. “What did you say?”

Cas stared at him. The expression on Sam’s face cut into him deeply. Where he’d actually begun to trust him again before Crowley’s visit, much of that had slipped away. He decided to address it directly. “Because I didn’t tell you, you’re afraid of what else I might be capable of.” It wasn’t a question. “What else I might hide.”

He glared at the angel. “Uh, yeah, Cas. That’s a pretty fucking big one.”

“Well, there’s a lot I haven’t told you. Do you really want to know everything? You won’t like it. I can guarantee you won’t. I was a soldier for millennia, Sam. I’m capable of terrible things. And I’ve done them, at the behest of others and out of my own stupidity and weakness. I mean, even when I hesitated—the only reason the three of us eventually met—it wasn’t because of any crisis of heart. I had no moral conflict. I simply thought the assignment was beneath my garrison. That we were too good for it! How awful is that? What kind of a monster, when faced with killing innocents, falters on a direct command because it isn’t a big enough challenge? Because it’s too easy? Because it’s _boring_?!”

Through willpower alone, he managed to keep eye contact. “I hate myself for that, Sam. I can’t believe I was that heartless and callous and conceited. And, truth is, even now, I have to work to make good choices, to be a good person. I have to sit and think it out. It doesn’t come naturally, and I don’t always take the right path without help. But I do choose it. I want to do the right thing, on the first try whenever possible. I wanna be good enough.” He couldn’t take looking at him anymore and turned away.

After a long pause, “I just asked her. I explained that the cops wouldn’t believe that a guy could just disappear, and that he was a dangerous person we’re trying to stop. So, she agreed. That’s it. No threats, nothing bad.” He pressed into the bridge of his own nose with his thumb and index finger. “I didn’t tell you about Crowley because I was afraid you’d—I was afraid you’d make me leave again.”

“You’d probably deserve it,” Sam didn’t hold back. A combination of hunger, being sick, and feeling emotionally raw brought out more bite than he perhaps really intended.

Dean’d heard enough. “Think you two could dial it back a few notches? Jesus.” All the muscles in his body were locked up. He never could handle arguing when it was two people he really cared about, even though it’d become commonplace with Sam and their father during the former’s late teenage years. It grated on him, and he couldn’t stand it. “No, he doesn’t fucking deserve to get kicked to the curb, and yes, you should’ve told us.” His breath escaped him erratically, and he thought the level of anxiety he felt might rival a panic attack.

“I know. I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas replied before Sam could say anything. “You too, Sam. Really.”

But Dean wasn’t satisfied. “No,” his expression softened. “What you did while you were gone and before we even knew you doesn’t mean anything, Cas. It’s what you do while you’re with us that matters. You should’ve told us, because you can tell us anything. I get why you didn’t, but I’m serious. You can trust us, and you don’t have to worry about us giving you the boot. I promise.”

He had no intention of being flexible in this respect. Sam could get mad and throw a fit if he wanted, but no way in Hell was Dean gonna let Cas go again. In his mind, it was as unfathomable as losing Sam, despite how different his relationships were with each of them. He put his whole life as a hunter on ice to have both of them for as long as he could. Sam would have to understand that.

“Dean,” the younger Winchester almost whispered. He wasn’t so sure they could make that kind of promise, not with Cas’s track record.

“Sorry, Sammy, but you’re wrong on this one. That asshole Crowley made a halfway decent point toward the end. It seems pretty damn unlikely that they’re gonna let Cas upstairs again, so we only got so much time, you know? I’m not shortening that. I can’t do it. Do you really want to? I mean, c’mon, man. Guy’s been taking care of you for two weeks straight, now.”

Sam somehow managed to grow paler than he already was. “No, I just—” What the hell was he saying? Of course he didn’t. He loved Cas. And not just because he would hold back Sam’s hair while he puked. The angel encouraged him to be himself and stuck around to pick up the pieces if it didn’t go right, without insisting he put his dreams on hold.

And Cas did seem utterly devoted to the both of them. A few days before the trip, he sat for hours and hours while Sam rested his head on a pillow in his lap. He simply ran his fingers over the side of Sam’s face and through his hair rhythmically, trying with some success to sooth the pain away. And he did it not only to help Sam but to give Dean a much-needed break to rest. Since Sam hadn’t been sleeping for more than a few hours at a time, his soulmate tried to stay up with him—for three days. With nothing more than a few brief naps, he was barely forming sentences. Cas insisted he get real sleep in a real bed, and promised to wake him if he was needed.

“No,” he repeated, tentatively touching the angel’s shoulder. “I’m just a little angry.”

“…And hungry?” Cas’s morose expression lightened somewhat. Hoping he could ease some of the tension by bringing food into the mix, he reached for the slightly dirty and dented box of crackers. “I wanted to get something better but the selection kinda sucked. I found some peanut butter, though.”

By all accounts, every word of that seemed to the healer to be designed for gaining his forgiveness. He wanted so badly to have Sam forgive and welcome him again, and he didn’t like fighting any more than Dean did.

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t believe. And,” Sam swallowed his pride, with most of the anger going along with it, “these are great.” He needed a little help getting the packaging open as, along with everything else, his fine motor skills took a huge hit after the accident. Every day he grew stronger and healthier, but it was a painstakingly slow process.

They didn’t stop again until they were well into Illinois.


	37. Take It Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

Despite the relative proximity to Chicago and its suburbs, Cas didn’t ask if they could make a quick detour to see his sister. They certainly didn’t owe him any favors right now, he thought, and he had no plans to press his luck. And anyway, though Sam was recovering gradually, he didn’t need the added stress and extra travel time.

The angel curled himself up in a chair in the night’s hotel room. He purposefully kept his distance. Sam was still a little angry, and uneasy along with, and Cas didn’t blame him. He’d fucked up by not telling them about Crowley. The demon posed a real hazard to their well-being and safety. By associating with him further, he put them at risk. And on top of that, lying was wrong, of course, and harmful to his relationship with them.

He sat just close enough to see the TV. His companions had on some terrible demon possession movie, which they were periodically ripping on. Dean took a sip of beer every time the film got something wrong. Sam sleepily lounged against the older man, half paying attention to the plot and half seemingly fascinated by the stitching in Dean’s shirt. He toyed with the fabric like a cat, and the older man was happy to let him.

Dean was more focused on the movie, but he also rhythmically ran the fingers of one hand through Sam’s hair. Though he did it without thinking, the act calmed the healer, and it even helped with the aching in his abdomen a little. Dean hoped Sam might drift off to sleep like that, laying against his chest. Comforted. Protected. Anything he could do to make him feel better—to help him recover. All he wanted was to help Sam get back on his feet.

Cas listened to their conversation. Much of it sounded like something one might find on the DVD commentary of a movie.

“It was right there, man.” Dean pointed toward the TV with the hand that held his beer. “I know you saw it. Right there on the table.”

“I think that might’ve been sugar, though,” Sam peered at the screen to see if they’d show it again. But the camera panned away, and when the scene changed to the house’s living room, his interest returned to Dean’s shirt.

“Dude, whatever.” He took a drink. “Everybody’s got salt, anyway. I’m calling it. And look at that girl. She weighs like ninety pounds. Getting her into a salt circle would be no big deal at all.”

Sam yawned. “Yeah, but then the movie would be over in like five minutes. And the writers could just argue that the characters don’t know how to deal with it, so it doesn’t matter. They’re gonna have to wait until the priest guy shows up.” He reached for Dean’s beer to steal a sip, but he moved it out of reach. “Oh, c’mon.”

“Hey, no booze. Remember?” Cas’s rule, not Dean’s. But it made sense, and he was determined to keep looking out for Sam—like he always did—even though there was another person willing to do it now.

Too tired to fight him on it, Sam simply let out a heavy sigh.

“The priest is gonna mess it up, too,” Dean continued on with his annotations. “Ten bucks says he gets the words wrong. He might even—” But he stopped.  

His expression grew serious, and he stared at the TV with a strange stillness that caught both Sam and Cas by surprise. They each turned their attention to the movie to see what was wrong. For some reason, one of the bad characters, a member of a Satanist cult, had just set the house on fire. Though the protagonists escaped, they stood in front of the building and watched helplessly as it was consumed.

Cas didn’t immediately understand what the problem was, but Sam did. “Lawrence?”

As in Lawrence, Kansas, where the two had been born, and where their first home burned to the ground. Dean gulped. After a few moments, he craned his neck down and kissed the top of Sam’s head. “No. I dunno, maybe. The colors are wrong, but it looks kinda like it, I guess. I dunno why I’m thinkin’ it now—it’s stupid. Houses burn all the time in movies.”

Sam patted his knee empathetically. “Yeah, but this movie has demons, too.”

“Uh, last time I checked, you’re not a ninety pound girl, Sammy.”

“Well, no,” he laughed, “and I’m not possessed. But I have demon blood in me. And come on, you were so young, Dean, and it changed everything. I’d be surprised if stuff like this _didn’t_ remind you of that night.”

He shrugged. “Still seems stupid.”

Across the room, Cas perked up. “Wait.” Suddenly, he felt very embarrassed. Blushing, “No, you don’t. You don’t have any demon anything in you, Sam.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the angel. “Dude, Cas, I know I told you about this. That’s how I had the psychic stuff a few years back. Before we met you. The yellow-eyed demon did it because he wanted me to become some sort of super soldier for him.”

Dean could feel another headache coming on. Most days, he could go without thinking about that—about his soulmate being _modified_ by a fucking demon, about what that meant—and about their mother walking in on it and getting killed. As much as he had helped save Sam from the fire, he always, _always_ wished he could have done more. He was only four years old at the time, and completely helpless, but it didn’t matter.

“No, I know that.” Cas searched for the right way to say it. “But demon blood in a human is like—well—it’s like having Hepatitis or something. It’s like having a disease. And you don’t get diseases anymore, Sam. Anything wrong with your body that you had before you became a healer, including what the demon did to you, is gone now.”

Sam sat up quickly, and the room spun a little. “What?!”

He couldn’t believe it. For almost his entire life, he’d carried that poison around. Though he didn’t know what it was until his twenties, he’d always felt just a little different. _Off_ , somehow. And when he did know, and it reared its ugly head? Dean stuck by him. But Sam knew it weighed heavily on him, made him uncomfortable, and worried the hell out of him. And it probably still did. Knowing his brother had a few drops of the enemy in him…

Until now.

“I didn’t think of it,” Cas explained nervously. “I should have. You would’ve liked to hear this a lot sooner.” He chewed on the nail of his index finger and kept his gaze on the floor. Privately, he winced. Sam was already upset with him for keeping things a secret, and now this? He hadn’t intentionally kept the information from him, but Cas didn’t think that would make a difference.

“Cas,” was all Sam could manage. Emotion engulfed him. He bent over, covering his mouth with one hand as he started to cry and holding his stomach with the other. He was happy for sure, and it felt like a giant weight had be lifted. But at the same time, he was reminded of all the anguish he’d experienced. Everything Dean had gone through. Everything he’d gone through. Almost getting killed in that ghost town. The visions. The alienation.

But he wasn’t allowed to deal with it alone for long. Dean put his beer down, muted the movie, and crawled across the bed toward him. He enveloped Sam in his arms. Pressing his lips against the healer’s cheek, “Shh. What are you crying for?” he whispered.

But he understood. Sam was hurting and exhausted, and now he had this big news dropped on him. Though Dean asked the question, it was more to comfort Sam than anything. And he hoped his sympathy-laced voice conveyed it well enough.

Rubbing his arm,  “It’s okay, Sammy.”

The angel got up from his chair. Slowly, he paced over to them. In front of Sam, he dropped down to a crouching position and folded his arms on the edge of the bed. He reached for Sam’s ankle and loosely rested his hand on top of it. “I’m sorry, Sam. About everything. What can I do? Tell me. I can make you some tea or something. Whatever you need.”

He sniffed and patted the bed, a motion intended to beckon Cas nearer. When he climbed up next to Sam, “No, umm. I’m fine. This is—it’s really awesome. I’m just—wow. I mean, I should be thanking you. I know it wasn’t why you gave me the healing power, but this is one of the best things anyone’s ever done for me, Cas.”

His whole face lit up as he smiled. “Does this mean you’re not pissed at me?”

Sam leaned out of Dean’s grasp to grab Cas by the far shoulder and pull him closer. Weak as he was, he still kissed him at almost full force. If that wasn’t answer enough, he was happy to provide a real one, too: “You can’t imagine how happy I am right now.”

With the tension alleviated, Cas embraced him enthusiastically. His excitement at being forgiven was abated only by a vested interest in not hurting Sam by showing it. But with some caution, he gripped the healer and held him close for a long time.

Dean was as relieved as the angel, if not more so. If he never saw them fight seriously again, he’d be happy for the rest of his life.

***

Sam leaned on the doorframe and produced a smile that could have lit up the room. It had taken him the better part of an hour to shave and get into his tux, though he’d insisted he could do it himself. By the time he emerged from the hotel suite’s sizable bathroom, his counterparts were fully dressed, and gorgeously so.

Dean’s outfit was nearly identical to his soulmate’s: head to toe in black, but with a silver vest and tie underneath. Sam had gone for a metallic blue instead, forgoing the white shirt for a cobalt one. But while Cas helped them pick out theirs, he went alone to buy his own garb when he had a free moment during Sam’s recovery. The older Winchester couldn’t have gone with him even if he’d wanted to—they didn’t dare leave Sam alone then, and Dean refused to stray from his side.

But Cas did fine without their input. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Clad in dark gray with pinstripes, including a matching vest, with a purple shirt under it, he looked absolutely stunning. Handsome and elegant. Unbelievably sexy. It was basically the same cut as theirs—which proved quite flattering on all three—but the colors and fabric were so different, outsiders might not even be able to tell.

The brightly colored shirt hadn’t yet been tucked in. From beneath where it hung at his waist, Sam could see his slacks were still undone. He stood in front of the mirror, fussing with a pair of cufflinks. He didn’t notice the healer’s arrival until Dean turned and raised an eyebrow. “Dude, finally! Took you long enough,” he teased. “I feel like we’re going to prom.”

“Didn’t you go to like six different proms?” he accused.

As with Sam, Dean’d been perpetually a new kid with no curfew, but he also intentionally maintained a “bad boy” attitude, which had teen girls lining up to go out with him in high school. Before Dean dropped out, anyway. Sam remembered distinctly a steady stream of them, typically more than one for every school they briefly attended. In hindsight, the healer realized that whenever Dean got slightly more attached to one than usual, it’d annoyed him. He’d chalked it up to not wanting to be ignored or left behind. But, of course, he knew now what the real cause was.

“Might’ve been seven.” Dean laughed. “But I don’t get why we gotta dress up. It’s Bobby and Ellen. We should all wear flannel and ripped jeans. Everybody’d be more comfortable.”

Sam shrugged. “She probably figures that if the guests don’t look nice, Bobby won’t either.”

“I think it’s great,” Cas chimed in, crossing the room to Sam. Without even thinking about it, he finished buttoning his shirt for him and started on the tie.

He let him. Sam’s current state, along with past bouts of pain after overworking himself, helped him grow accustomed to Cas’s brand of care. It was very different from what Dean offered—mostly just being there and trying to protect him. The angel paid attention to the details and, when needed, stuck to a routine in an attempt to optimize the recovery process.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asked quietly. When he finished fixing up Sam’s attire, his fingers touched the healer’s jaw and felt the soft skin where his beard had been an hour earlier. “You look amazing.”

Sam bent down until his lips brushed against Cas’s forehead. “Yeah, right. You’re kicking my ass in that department, and you’re not even finished, yet.” He reached with both hands to the angel’s hips and smoothed the shirt down. Slowly, and with as much deliberate seduction as he could muster, Sam neatly slid the fabric into his pants, straightened and adjusted it, and zipped up his fly. By the time he tightened the belt, Cas’s face was flushed.

God, he wished he was healthy enough to do more than just tease him.

“Cut that out!” he ordered, though in all actuality he was happy to let Sam put his hands there any time he wanted. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

He gulped, and the angel could see a hint of pain behind his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be doing much but sitting—and eating.”

“Hey, you still gotta be careful. Bland stuff. Small portions. No alcohol,” he insisted. When Sam looked completely crushed at that, Cas worked one of his hands inside the man’s vest.

Wrapping an arm around Cas’s lower back, he pulled him closer and didn’t stop until they touched at the waist. Lifting his head, “Come on, Cas! I haven’t puked in three days. You can’t watch me every second. I’m gonna have cake, at least. Go ahead. Try and stop me, man. I dare you!”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I’ll just tie you to the bed and take all your clothes.”

“That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Dean chimed in from by the door. “But we’re gonna be late if you two are plannin’ to get kinky.”

Collectively blushing, Sam and Cas grabbed their coats and followed him outside.


	38. Second Hand News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

A twenty minute drive from their hotel got them to the location: an open field surrounded in the distance by trees. Mountains rose up on the horizon, and the only sign of civilization other than the arriving guests was a collection of houses down the road. Population? A dozen or so at most.

It was the kind of seclusion a large gathering of hunters, many with criminal records, fake IDs, and unregistered weapons, would undoubtedly appreciate.

The trio arrived a few minutes early, lining up the Impala with a menagerie of different vehicles in a grassy makeshift parking area. They represented every type possible, from nondescript—and possibly stolen—compact cars and SUVs to fully customized machines that rivaled, but of course couldn’t quite compare to, Dean’s Chevy. Many were in disrepair. The pickup truck next to them didn’t even seem to have paint, just grey primer and rust.

Most of them probably carried just one occupant each, as hunters generally traveled and worked alone. On bigger cases, they might work in pairs or small groups, and on rare occasions, some of them had families, but hunting was a very solitary life. For obvious reasons. You didn’t have to suffer the loss of someone if there wasn’t anyone to lose.

Which was exactly why, when a couple of huntersfound themselves caring deeply about an angel, along with each other, they didn’t have much choice but to retire. If they wanted to live into old age together, it was the only way.

But being inactive as hunters set the Winchesters apart from the rest, whether they liked it or not. Nevermind what Cas was and what he meant to them.

And it was a sizable crowd that surrounded the three.

Despite Bobby’s unfortunate tendency to accidentally make enemies, the event was expecting more than a hundred attendees. And very few were friends and family of Ellen’s. Practically every hunter who kept Bobby’s number handy had managed to turn up, lured in by the promise of free food and drink, gossip, and a chance to relax.

A simple wooden archway covered in flowers marked the spot where the two would tie the knot, and rows upon rows of white-painted wooden chairs stretched out in front of it. Brown tents clad in woven fabric hid rooms for the wedding party—which consisted only of Jo, who was Ellen’s daughter, and Rufus, who had known Bobby for ages, alongside the bride and the groom—to prepare. A large red one sat a short distance away, though the sides were folded up to let a gentle breeze in. As the three walked by it, they saw round tables in and around the structure, complete with flowers, plates, etc., in true wedding fashion.

But considering the common profession of most of the guests, there were a few unique additions. On every table were hex bags, or little pouches filled with herbs and trinkets that could ward all manner of bad things away, particularly ghosts and witches. The whole area was surrounded by old rails—solid iron—to keep demons at bay. It’d taken Bobby, Rufus, and a handful of volunteers three days to complete the circle. Additionally, scattered throughout the area were moderately hidden demon traps.

And, of course, most of the hunters were packing. Guns, knives, salt, special trinkets, guidebooks—you name it. None of the three could blame them. This amount of hunters in one place? It could be like ringing a dinner bell for some monsters if they weren’t careful. So, every precaution was taken.  Even the Winchesters had at least one weapon on them each, and Cas kept a small bottle of holy water in his pocket, just in case Crowley decided to pay another visit.

As they reached their seats in the front row off to the right, all three found themselves anxious, but for different reasons.

Cas was the worst of them. While, when it came to himself, Sam worried he might pass out or be sick, or that the others would interrogate him or try to pressure him into healing before he was ready, Cas’s very existence seemed problematic. If the strangers knew about angels, he doubted they had favorable opinions. As far as he could tell from their patients, some word of the civil war was making the rounds in hunter circles. Mostly, if they had an opinion at all, they lamented not getting a chance to shoot at a new and exciting foe.

On the way in, Cas kept a wary eye on every person they passed. And he hung close to his companions. The Winchesters’ reputation by all accounts was much better than that of his species, even with the rumor of their retirement and new profession spreading like wildfire. He kept in step with them, avoided conflict—hell, he avoided eye contact. He didn’t say anything until they sat down, and even then, he made sure it wasn’t loud enough to be heard by others.

“So, I’m a little nervous,” he said in a low voice.

Dean hesitated. His own anxiety centered around what the others might think of him if they knew about his recent sexual and romantic exploits. And not only the social suicide associated with dating his own sibling. The mere idea that he fancied men—in addition to a very strong, yet currently irrelevant interest in women—would raise eyebrows, too. He’d been dabbling in it for at least two years now, but he hadn’t exactly made the fact public with this particular group of people, except for the wedding party.

It was in stark contrast to back home. The fine, clueless people of Philadelphia didn’t know he was self-conscious about shacking up with dudes. Nor did they have any idea that Sam Walker and Dean Jameson could possibly be related—though it was in fact the city of _brotherly love_ , a slogan that elicited quite a few jokes from the three of them. Puns aside, the environment there made being open easier, and it allowed Dean an opportunity to be himself. Not what his father had wanted or the job required. Just what was left of him after.

And to share it with the two people he loved and cared about more than anything.

He put his arm on the back of Cas’s chair. “Dude, don’t worry about it. You don’t gotta answer to anybody here. Just have a good time.” He smiled. Now, if only he could follow his own advice.

As the crowd slowly found their seats, Bobby emerged from one of the tents and paced nervously over to the trio. Dressed in a suit with his hair slicked back, the man looked more like he was posing as an FBI agent than like the old hunter they knew. Clearing his throat. “I got a problem.”

“Cold feet?” Dean teased.

He smacked the ex-hunter over his head with a paper program. “No, you idjit. It’s El. She can’t—” he flushed. “She can’t get her dress up all the way. Jo had to run back to the house to get ‘er damn shoes, and El ain’t lettin’ me or Rufus within thirty feet of her. One of you’s got to—god damnit—go in there and help.”

Sam stifled a laugh. This was the type of problem they could handle.

Without saying anything, Dean lifted his fist, and his soulmate did the same, in preparation to play _Rock, Paper, Scissors_ —their go-to manner of assigning an obligation. Cas’d seen them do this often, for both unwanted or mildly annoying responsibilities like this one and for highly desired ones. In most cases, they both automatically fell into doing it without asking each other or even giving a look. This simple little game showed the strength of their connection more than them finishing each other’s thoughts, and they did it nearly as often. Sam won more than Dean did by a small margin, but the latter didn’t seem to notice.

“I could do it,” Cas said quietly before either Winchester could decide their move.

Dean lowered his hand slowly. “Man, I dunno if that’s a great idea.”

“I haven’t had a chance to apologize to Ellen in person, yet.” He had no intention of sidestepping the issue. “And Sam should do as little moving as possible. So, it’s either you or me, and I would really like to make peace with her before she begins this chapter of her life.” Plus, though it was really irrelevant, Cas was the only one of the three with no real inclination toward women, which might make things slightly less awkward.

Cas sounded more like an angel there than usual, and Dean assumed it was nervousness. He vastly preferred the human side of Cas, but also couldn’t help but be calmed by the strange tranquility in his tone. “What do ya say, Bobby?” He didn’t look at either of them. Let them sort it out.

The older man didn’t like the idea at all. Though the few weeks gave him time to accept or drink into repression—mostly accept—everything he’d learned during his visit, it would take a lot longer for him to trust or even like Castiel. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I sure as hell don’t wanna put this thing off any longer. Go ahead. But you ask first. It’s her deal. All this. If she don’t wanna see you, you get your ass back here.”

Cas nodded and rose from his feet. “Uh, okay. Absolutely.”

He quickly strode away from them, past Bobby’s designated tent and then one that cleverly hid portable restrooms, until he arrived outside the bride’s hideout. Knocking on a post near the flap that acted as a door, he waited until her muffled voice came through. “What are you waiting for? Get in here!”

With his heart racing, Cas slipped inside the tent. The afternoon sun easily filtered in through the cloth and lit up the sparse room. He spied a large mirror to his left, some chairs, and a stand which likely once held clothing for the event.

Facing away from him and sitting on an old trunk was the soon-to-be Mrs. Singer. Her cream-colored dress, which while decked in lace was not overly flashy or complicated, was only half zipped, leaving much of her back exposed. The straps hung off her shoulders, and she held the front up with one hand. Her dark blonde hair lay coiled in a loose but elegant knot at the nape of her neck. It held a few tiny braids that reminded him of golden wheat still growing in the field.

As he neared, he saw glints of silver dangling from her ears. “I’m not who you’re expecting,” he forced himself to say. Better she find out now than when he touched her.

She inhaled sharply and spun her head around to look at him. He could see fire in her gaze, behind mascara and just a hint of green eye shadow. “What in the hell? Where are the boys?”

“I wanted to help.” He purposefully averted his glance, choosing instead to study the pattern on a small rug in the center of the room. “I volunteered. If you would like me to go, I can. I just—I wanted to apologize personally. Umm, I’ll get Dean.” He turned on his heel and headed for the makeshift door.

A sigh. “All right now, hold on.” When he stopped, “That’s gonna take too damn long. And I suppose you’re as good as any.” She didn’t make an attempt to veil her frustration.

Biting into his lip, Cas walked toward her slowly. He crouched down behind her and carefully took hold of the zipper. “Put your shoulders back,” he directed. After she did, he pulled up on the zipper gradually. His other hand gripped the top of the dress and pulled the two pieces together. Moments later, the cloth was fully cinched and the zipper locked in place. He let go and took a few steps back. ”Let’s see.”

Ellen stood and fixed the straps. Smoothing down the dress, she spun around fully. The pesky zipper seemed unrelated to the fit of the dress, as it didn’t look too tight or small on her at all. In fact, it appeared perfectly tailored to her, hugging her frame in a flattering but not overtly sexual way. The garment flowed from her waist, but he thought with amusement that she could still run in this dress if she chose, fighting monsters or hunting or chasing after Bobby.

“Beautiful!” He wasn’t lying or exaggerating. She looked radiant.

And nervous. She stood very still. Her fingers tugged on one of the folds of the garment, and Cas could hear the two bracelets on that wrist click together. Her mind at first focused entirely on the ceremony—every stage, all the lines, etc., and all the things that could go wrong. But as Cas waited awkwardly near the exit, a fraction of her attention turned to him. “You want my forgiveness, I take it?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Though you’re welcome to. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry for any hardship I might’ve caused you. And wish you luck. It’s going to be perfect.”

After a moment to think his words over, she eventually nodded. “Hope so. Thanks for your help.”

Satisfied, he smiled a little in her direction before departing. He couldn’t and didn’t expect people to just get over the damage he’d caused.

Back at their seats, the two sat with Cas’s empty chair between them. It was a precaution to guard against themselves. Their sidelong glances were unavoidable, but the urge to touch each other was so incredibly strong. Little touches. A caress to the cheek or arm. A kiss to the soft skin next to Sam’s ear. Or the gentle connection of fingertips with the inside of Dean’s thigh—a new habit of the healer’s whenever his soulmate sat close enough for him to reach.

On a daily basis, they didn’t have to hold back very often now, but here they certainly did. And they didn’t trust themselves to behave. Even with Dean doing everything in his power to avoid messing up, if they were too close to each other, an accident was bound to happen.

He kept his attention forward, studying the place where Bobby and Ellen would tie the knot. A thought gnawed at him for about a minute before he let it loose, in as quiet of a voice as he could muster with Sam still able to hear him. “Can you imagine us doin’ something like this?”

Sam’s head jerked in his direction. The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and it surprised him. At first. “No,” he laughed. “Because we’d be breaking like five different laws, Dean.”

“I meant the ceremony.”

He was dead serious. Accordingly, Sam reigned himself in. “Well, umm, it always seemed to me like people did this kind of stuff to solidify what they have. To make it official. Without the piece of paper, these things are basically just very structured parties. I mean, at least that’s how I see it. And I don’t really need anything to tell me that what we’ve got is permanent, you know? But, hey,” he licked his lips absently, “if you wanted something like this, you know I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what I want.”

Taking a risk, Sam continued. “Of course, you _could_ have something official, just probably not with me.”

He turned away. “Dude, no. That’s not even an option.”

“Yes, it is. Not in Pennsylvania—yet—but we could head up to Boston for a weekend, and I could—”

“Sammy, no. Just no.”

He narrowed his eyes at him. “Look, it wouldn’t be any kind of betrayal or anything. I know you wanted to. Before Cas left. That’s how you knew about the jewelry store, right? Because you went looking for one. Because you were gonna buy a ring for Cas and give it to him. You two could still have that if you wanted, Dean. Honestly, I don’t think I need it personally, but if you do, then I’ll be there to help make it happen.”

“What? Seriously? How the hell did you—?” Dean silently cursed himself for making that louder than he intended.

“How did I figure it out? C’mon, Dean. How do you think? Because I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. Cas included.”

Dean swallowed his anxiousness. “Okay, maybe, but then you should already know there’s no way in hell I would leave you in the dust like that, Sam. Cas ain’t goin’ anywhere.” At least not while all three of them were still alive. “And it’s not just me and him anymore. It’s us. The three of us. I don’t see the point, and I don’t wanna shut you out—officially, metaphorically, or whatever—just for a piece of paper. Nothing’s worth that.” He fidgeted in his chair. “Anyway, buzzkill, I was just tryin’ to picture it.”

Moving in closer, Sam leaned on the back of the empty chair. He motioned for Dean to meet him halfway. Not for a kiss, which the healer would have loved, but so he could respond without worry of being overheard. When Dean reluctantly closed the gap, Sam rewarded him with a sweet look that he knew drove him crazy. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah? How you gonna do that?” he whispered back. “You’re on the injured list.”

“Carefully.” Sam sat back and folded his arms across his chest. Raising both eyebrows, “Slowly.”

Dean was still blushing when Cas returned. He gave them a thumbs up to signal the operation’s success before sliding back into his seat.

It was about fifteen minutes before Ellen emerged from the tent with Jo, and they walked behind all of the guests to the back of the aisle. Bobby and Rufus scrambled to their feet. The latter seemed utterly relaxed while the former was predictably a mess. Though his outfit was clean and pressed, sweat beaded on his brow, and he stood like a statue near the archway. Officiating was a woman Cas didn’t recognize at all. Dean and Sam guessed it might be Ellen’s cousin from Tennessee by the similar features.

There was no flower girl, nor a ring bearer. In fact, in the seemingly huge crowd, only a handful of actual children were present—with a few obvious teenagers who actively tried to pass themselves off as adults, probably in anticipation of drinking later. None were close enough in age or relation to the two to serve those roles.

But it didn’t make much difference. Jo carried with her a small basket, in which an assortment of fresh flower petals waited for her personal distribution. And the rings were already in Rufus’s coat pocket—Bobby forced him to prove they were there at least twice that afternoon. Music started from a portable player. The women walked down the grassy aisle, and the crowd watched with genuine smiles painted on their faces. Bobby kept his eyes fixed on Ellen, looking like he might faint at the mere sight of her.

When she and Jo took their places, Bobby immediately seized El’s hands in his own. Grinning like an idiot, he leaned in. “I could get used to seein’ you all dolled up.”

She squinted at him in the sunlight. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ready?” the woman—Sarah, if Dean remembered correctly—asked in a light southern accent. When they both nodded. “All right,” she cleared her throat. “On this beautiful day, with all these lovely people serving as witnesses, we’re here to join in marriage our dearest Ellen Harvelle with the dashing,” laughter erupted from the audience, “Bobby Singer.”

“Both have faced more than their fair share of hardship, but as fate would have it, that’s how they found each other. They connected in the wake of cosmic turmoil I’m only just beginning to understand,” she gave an uneasy chuckle. Cas thought it possible that she wasn’t a hunter, and had only recently been briefed on what hunters regularly got themselves into.

“And now, they are ready to declare formally what we already know so well. That their love will last not only to the end of this life, but into the next. That they will take care of each other through illness, adversity, and their own incredibly strong wills. And that from this day on, they will never find themselves alone in the journey ahead. Bobby Singer, do you promise to lend yourself to our Ellen with your whole heart, soul, and life?”

Without taking his eyes off of her, he nodded. “Well, yeah, uh—I do.” He sounded so nervous—a rarity for the man. The trio watched with sincere enjoyment, not at his state, but at him having a good reason for it.

“And do you, Ellen Harvelle, promise to cut Bobby a break now and then, and not pester him too much about his drinking. He’ll rub your feet if you do. Hell, he’ll probably do it anyway, but you know, go easy on him. He’s getting old,” Sarah had to pause to keep from giggling uncontrollably. The piece of paper crinkled in her hands. “And maybe he’ll even take you shopping.”

Ellen’s face turned red. And it became clear that they’d opted to write each other’s vows. But when he snickered, she couldn’t stay mad at him. “Yes, I do.” Then, in a lower voice, “You ass.”

“With rings symbolic of links in a chain created by love,” Sarah paused, putting one hand on each of them as Rufus handed each the other’s ring. Ellen went first, sliding the plain-looking white gold onto his finger. When it came to Bobby’s turn, the bride’s hand trembled. “You are united.” After another silence, “Go on, don’t be shy, now. Kiss each other already.”

They did. Nervous and well aware that they had a large audience, what sufficed for a kiss seemed like something two kids on their first date ever might do, rather than befitting of two adults who’d known each other for decades. But the love and sincerity was still there, and the crowd cheered them on. More than a few people actually whistled. When the music cued up again, the two started back down the aisle, arm in arm, to congratulations and confetti.


	39. Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find the complete story here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters

With the ceremony over, the reception went into full swing immediately. Pretty much everyone in attendance, minus the kids, held reputations for being able to hold their liquor. And they were excited to test their limits publicly.

As the booze flowed, so did the food.

Most of it was homemade, brought by the more domesticated hunters and kept on catering-style warmers. Sam stood in line, holding a viciously empty plate, and trying not to drool.

They had everything. Pasta, chicken and beef, salad with six kinds of dressing, fresh fruit, devilled eggs—supplied by someone with a clear sense of humor—and many variations of BBQ. Smells wafted toward the hungry guests as the line moved slowly in the direction of the offerings. Along with the hunter-made food, there were plates of cheese and desserts, small pre-made sandwiches bought from a deli, and even candy. There were bowls of chips and popcorn and tons of dishes he couldn’t identify at a distance.

His stomach growled.

Real food. Sam was prepared to fight tooth and nail to finally get a hot meal in which soup was not the primary component. But he wouldn’t have to. It was all right there, spread out in front of him. He just had to wait his turn.

But at the edge of the tent, a familiar silhouette appeared, and his heart sank. He shook his head. “Dude, I’ll give you twenty bucks if you turn around and pretend I’m not about to stuff my face,” he said in a quiet voice, clutching the plate to his chest. “Please? Thirty.”

Cas joined him in line, much to the unspoken dismay of the disheveled hunter behind them. “I do the books. I could just take the money if I needed it.” He smiled. “And do you really want to get sick here, in front of everyone?”

“I’ll take the chance. What if I promise to eat slow?” He was only three people away from starting to fill his plate with concentrated deliciousness. If he had to defend the meal with his life, he was going to take it back to their table and enjoy the hell out of it. “Gimme just one round of whatever I want. You can be in charge of seconds.”

The angel picked up a plate of his own. “I guess.” As much as he wanted to take care of Sam, he also couldn’t really say no to him on something like this. The poor guy was starving, and the food did look delightful. “But no alcohol, and go light on the spices, okay?”

“Deal.”

Sam had to get creative to fit everything on the smallish white ceramic. Bacon-wrapped scallops were carefully stacked on top of each other in a tower, and salad with fancy Catalina dressing filled in the crevices between beef brisket, roasted potatoes, and lasagna. He ignored the bread and chips, knowing he could probably get those on the return trip if he wanted. Little pastries ringed the edges, including homemade doughnuts. The final touch was a large slice of watermelon, which he balanced against a small turkey sandwich.

Cas’s own plate was slightly less ridiculous, but his selections were just as decadent. He skipped the salad and starch in favor of meat and sugar.

As they headed back to the circular table designated for the trio—along with four other hunters who seemed to be no-shows—Sam was temporarily distracted from his edible conquest by the absence of his soulmate. “Where’s Dean?” He popped a potato into his mouth and sat down.

“Open bar,” he said simply, cutting into some chicken. “When he saw the selection, I think he got weak in the knees.”

“Speak of the devil.”

Dean sauntered over with a glass of scotch in his hand and dropped into a chair next to Cas. Grabbing a fork, he swiped a chunk of cake and inhaled it before the angel could react. “Hey!”

He offered a muffled “What?” in reply. Swallowing, he reached again for Cas’s food, but the plate slid out of reach. He grunted. “You know, I drove us all the way here and took out the King of Hell along the way. You could’ve at least gotten me one of those little fruit pies I keep seeing floatin’ around.” His eyes locked on a peach and berry tart on the edge of Sam’s mountain of food.

The healer picked the pastry up and feigned like he was going to eat it, but at the last second, he set it on a napkin and pushed it toward Dean, who grinned and devoured it.

“Speaking of Crowley,” Sam took a large bite of lasagna. He reveled in being able to eat something with flavor. “Well, of shooting him—I had an idea.”

“Do we have to talk about that right now?” Cas slipped the question in. It was a sore subject, and one he was certain would dampen their lighthearted moods. If they never spoke of or saw the demon again, he’d be incredibly happy.

His eyes widened. “What? No. No, Cas. I didn’t mean—It’s not about him.” Sam moved to kiss the angel on his cheek in reassurance but stopped short. Apart from Bobby and Ellen, whatever the other hunters knew about the trio, it probably didn’t include Sam and Cas being together. Instead, he opted to pat him on the back. “It’s those bullets you made, Dean. The ones with holy water in them. And you said you made other kinds?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, iron. Those are almost as easy as making silver ones, and we already have all the stuff for it.”

“Well, what do you think about maybe putting together a lot of things like that? More bullets, guns with special add-ons, flame-throwers, blades—maybe also first aid kits, car stuff, and even fake IDs if you want—basically anything hunters might need. To sell. We could fix up the basement better, and, uh, make it so the stuff is easy to hide. Sell some basic supplies along with the custom stuff. Take anybody interested down, or bring specific items up.”

The two watched as Dean’s smile grew. “We’d make a killing,” he replied without hesitating.

They wouldn’t even have to do any advertising. Pardoning the time since Sam’s mishap, the customers flowed in daily—it took a sign on the back door and some strongly worded shooing from Cas to keep them away during his recovery. And it would be as simple as telling them the stuff was available. Parting newly healed hunters with their cash was surprisingly easy already. They could make a ton of extra money as weapons dealers.

“Mmm-hmm,” Sam let his fork rest on his bottom lip. “We can be like a hunter general store or all-purpose pit stop.” He laughed. “Whatever you wanna make, Dean. You could even do rugs with demon traps painted on the bottom or prefilled salt shells. I know you have tons of ideas. Fuck, we’ve got a bunch of great prototypes in our trunk right now, and you came up with all of them.”

His face flushed. Some of it was his, and some items were holdovers from their father—though even in those cases, he modified most of them, sharpening the blades differently for maximum effectiveness and buying a specific brand of shells that worked better. He honestly didn’t think anyone noticed or cared. John Winchester sure as hell didn’t. So, Dean just figured it was part of the job. If the knife worked better, things went easier, and their chances of survival were higher.

But that was the difference, wasn’t it? Sam and Cas _did_ notice things like that. They _did_ care. And though they wanted him to give up hunting, they also wanted him to be happy and content. They knew he wouldn’t be unless he felt like he had a purpose, so they helped him find one.

“Let’s do it.” He took a sip of his drink triumphantly.

“I could work the finances for that, too,” Cas added.

Dean touched the angel’s knee. “Or help me in the shop?” he winked, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh at his less-than-subtle seduction technique. After a moment, though, his expression changed. “But, dude, what do you wanna do, anyway? If I do this shop thing, and Sam’s still a walking emergency room—what’s your deal? What do you want, man? I don’t even care what it is. On paper, it says we do freakin’ yoga. You wanna give yoga lessons?” He assumed—and silently hoped—that the answer would be no.

Cas raised both eyebrows and wiped at his lips with a cloth napkin. “Oh, God. No thanks! You two are a full time job, and I have no problem keeping busy. But here.” He rose and offered Dean his hand. “There is one thing I want.”

The ex-hunter gazed up at him with a puzzled look on his face. Cas turned his head toward a fairly sizable group of people—who were dancing. About half an hour earlier, the newlyweds had their official first dance, to some sappy old country song none of the three recognized. Many couples were still at it, and more had joined once they saw how long the lines for food and liquor were. Most of the music at first was a little too hokey for their tastes. As the afternoon progressed into evening, though, whoever manned the music player added in a bit more rock.

Dean could feel tension build in the back of his neck. It was one thing for them to walk close or even show each other a little affection in the relative safety of civilized society. But dancing? In front of and around heaps of battle-hardened hunters? He could think of a thousand bad things that would be less terrible, and less utterly frightening.

He deflected by looking over at Sam. But before he could make something up about not wanting to leave him out—knowing full well that the healer would probably welcome the chance to eat his meal in peace—Sam beat him to the punch. “Go on,” he ordered. “Promise I won’t stare. At least not too much.”

Every fiber of his being was against the idea. And Cas could see it, too. He had the appearance of someone who knew he was about to be let down. The sort of heartbreak mixed with acceptance. The angel was half a thought away from sitting back down. When he let his arm fall back to his side, though, Dean gave in. Standing, he reached for his hand and grabbed it. “Fuck,” he couldn’t help but swear. “Uh, yeah. Okay, Cas. Whatever you want.”

His anxiety eased a little—barely—with Cas’s giant smile. The angel really hadn’t expected Dean would say yes. It was way outside what all three knew Dean was comfortable with.

But if they could surprise him by noticing his careful attention to weaponry, he could surprise them by showing Cas the consideration he deserved. He stepped away from the table, still holding onto Cas’s hand and pulling him along. “Hey, fair warning: dancing isn’t exactly one of my strengths.”

“It should be okay,” he replied nervously. “I was pretty good once.”

Dean wasn’t surprised, given Cas’s prowess in bed and how well he could tell what other people liked.

They wove through pairs of hunters, most ten or more years older than Dean, until they reached the center of the grassy area designated for dancing. Trying not to look at anyone else, he wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist and gripped him at his lower back. But the angel didn’t immediately bring his own hands up. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He seemed to be assessing the situation, and trying to think of the right thing to say.

“What’s wrong? I haven’t even screwed it up yet.”

He gulped. “Well, I kinda wanted to—uh—lead.”

Dean groaned. “Oh, c’mon, dude!”

“It makes sense, though. If you don’t know how, and I do, or you’re not sure, I can just—and you can—I—damnit—” his face contorted in frustration as he stammered. He wanted to tell Dean to trust him, to trust that it would be better if he let him take the lead. But Cas had promised he would never ask for either of the Winchesters’ trust before they were ready to give it. That went for even small things like this. And, he worried Dean might call the whole thing off. Cas didn’t know what to do.

Sighing, Dean pulled him close and kissed him, slowly and deliberately. The idea of causing Cas this level of distress didn’t sit right at all in his gut. Just because he felt insecure didn’t mean Cas should have to get upset or not get the one thing he asked for. So, he readjusted his grip to his dance partner’s upper back and shoulders and bent down to speak into his ear. “It’s okay, Cas. You know you can talk to me, right? I know I’m stubborn as fuck sometimes, but I love you. You want something, you just ask me, man. I’m serious.”

It was, and it had to be, as simple as that.

Cas gave a quick nod as he soaked it all in. Gradually, he grasped him just above the belt and took a few tentative steps. Dean followed his guidance, and tried not to think too much. It took some time to get the hang of it, but eventually, he managed to match the angel’s rhythm.

“I love you so much, Dean,” Cas said in a whisper, staring at a point on Dean’s jacket. He’d left his own at the table, and had since rolled up both of his sleeves.

As the sun started to dip behind the nearby mountains, Dean relaxed further. Though he didn’t look too closely at their neighbors, they managed to go a few songs without incident. Darkness would only help. He pressed in really close until their chests touched and the sides of his lips brushed against Cas’s ear.

There was a certain feeling of security there. Though he was still anxious beyond belief and vulnerable, he didn’t really feel in danger. Not with the angel running the show. It didn’t matter that of the two of them, Dean was the stronger, both physically and when it came to less than human abilities. He still felt safer, somehow. He imagined it was similar to what Sam and Cas felt—or how he wanted them to feel—because of the protection he tried to give them. If he just closed his eyes, and he did for a few minutes now and then, it was like nothing could get at them.

By the third song, the healer had completely finished his dinner, but despite no one to stop him from scoring a second round, he didn’t budge from his seat. In fact, he only moved at all so he could get a better look at the two of them. How close they were, how utterly focused—it was like they were entranced or under some sort of spell.

After awhile, it almost seemed like Cas was actually holding Dean up. And they moved perfectly in step with each other. It was adorable and astounding, and Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

He wasn’t jealous. The months had helped him get used to seeing them together, knowing that he’d get his turn soon enough or simply join them outright. Loving and being with Cas made it easier, too. And, anyway, he wasn’t in any kind of shape for even the slow and lazy kind of dancing his soulmate and the angel were undertaking. Furthermore, he had a sneaking suspicion he might get dizzy if he tried to stand. The day had easily worn him out, and he planned to stay put until the duo retired.

But with Dean holding onto Cas, the smell of cologne on his jacket filling the angel’s nose, it wasn’t going to be any time soon. He felt like he could keep this up for days, soaking in the warmth of him and relishing in the moment. He knew it wouldn’t last forever—that they and his time with them wouldn’t be forever—but at least he could have it for a little while.

With contentment filling up every inch of his now very human form, Cas was willing to settle for a couple more hours of bliss.


End file.
